Ttl£  BY-WAYS 
O?  DRAITHE 


FIANCES  POWELL 


. 


• 


S 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF 
BRAITHE 


BY 

FRANCES  POWELL 

AUTHOR  OP  "THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  HUDSOM" 


NEW    YORK 
CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 

1907 


COPYRIGHT,  1904,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'8  SONS 


Published,  May,  1904 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF 
BRAITHE 


2137742 


THE    BY-WAYS   OF   BRAITHE 


Seed,  Xeafe,  Stalfce,  f  loure, 

f>ave  evil  Savour, 
pltflbt  troutbe  $ aftb  ano  Ijonour, 

l?saveo  vvcle  3Sraitbc  to  ano  r. 
Bew  Xeafc,  Stalhe,  jf  lourc. 

Dave  Soot  ff  air  Savour. 


It  was  high  noon,  and  the  little  valley  was  flooded 
with  sunshine.  This  was  good  for  delicate  little 
Jane,  who  sat  in  her  cart  perched  high  on  the  bank 
above  the  brook,  watching  my  struggles  with  a  big 
hot-bed  frame  that  I  was  trying  to  place  over  the 
water-cresses.  There  had  been  frost  during  the 
night,  but  it  had  spared  the  cresses,  and  I  wished  to 
coax  them  to  live  a  little  longer  for  Janey's  sake. 
She  liked  them  with  her  bread  and  butter. 

The  tiny  valley,  with  its  brook,  was  situated  mid- 
way between  Braithe  House,  which  stood  on  the 
high  edge  of  the  plateau  near  the  river,  and  what 
had  once  been  the  entrance  gates,  a  mile  to  the  west. 
Formerly  Braithe  Manor  had  boasted  an  avenue  two 
miles  in  length ;  but  that  was  before  the  new  road  by 
the  river,  from  Hilltown,  had  been  opened.  This 
highway  turned  into  what  had  been  our  avenue,  up 
the  hill  westward  from  the  valley,  and  joined  the  old 
inland  stage  road  at  the  point  where  our  entrance 

1 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

had  once  stood.  Now,  lodge,  gates,  and  gate-keeper, 
had  vanished  forever. 

It  was  across  a  ruinous  stone  arch,  spanning  the 
brook,  and  on  between  two  stone  pillars,  fast  crum- 
bling away,  that  we  now  entered  the  mile  of  avenue 
leading  to  Braithe.  So  were  the  past  glories  of  the 
Manor  shorn! 

In  the  hot-bed  frame  there  remained  but  few 
panes  of  glass,  and  these  were  cracked.  Still  they 
might  protect  the  cresses,  could  I  get  them  in  place; 
but  the  frame  was  very  heavy. 

"Here  come  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gill!"  cried  Janey,  from 
her  cart. 

The  Chevalier,  our  gold  and  tan  collie,  stopped 
digging  for  moles,  to  look  up  and  listen. 

"O  Charles  Stuart!"  said  Jane,  reproachfully, 
"your  nose  is  thick  with  mud.  And  Mrs.  Gill  ad- 
mires you  so  much!" 

The  Chevalier's  fine  manners  were  not  a  whit  al- 
tered by  this  fact;  and  he  dashed  forward,  to  meet 
the  buggy  coming  down  the  Farm  Road,  as  gayly 
courteous  as  if  his  coat  were  spotless.  Janey's  cart 
was  on  the  edge  of  this  road,  which  led  northward 
through  the  woods  to  Braithe  Farm,  and  the  buggy 
drew  up  beside  her. 

"Little  Miss  Janey!"  cried  Mrs.  Gill  kindly,  lean- 
ing out,  "And  how  does  she  do?"  Then,  catching 
sight  of  me,  "Well,  Miss  Theo,  what  are  you  tryin' 
to  do  with  that  tremenjious  frame?" 

I  explained. 

"I  want  to  know!"  she  ejaculated,  staring  at  me 
through  gold-rimmed  spectacles.  "I'm  afraid  it's 
quite  a  little  heavy." 

"It  is  heavy,"  I  assented,  and  looked  at  Mr.  Gill — 
and  smiled. 

He  bounced  out  of  the  buggy,  and  running  down 
the  bank  grasped  the  opposite  end  of  the  frame  with 

2 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

fat  white  fingers.  He  was  Mrs.  Gill's  latest  hus- 
band, her  third;  a  puffy-faced,  richly  attired  young 
man.  Observing  his  green  satin  neck-tie,  with  its 
pattern  of  red  horseshoes,  and  gold  tandem-whip 
scarf-pin,  I  concluded  that  he  and  Mrs.  Gill  were  on 
their  way  to  visit  friends;  so  I  was  the  more  sorry 
when,  in  his  eagerness  to  help  me,  his  foot  slipped, 
and  he  slid  into  the  water.  Casting  a  frightened 
glance  toward  the  buggy,  he  scrambled  out,  but  one 
trouser  leg  was  soaking  wet,  and  his  immaculate 
shirt  cuffs  soggy.  Little  Jane,  leaving  her  cart  as 
the  accident  happened — Janey  was  very  quick- 
witted— clambered  into  the  buggy,  and  held  Mrs. 
Gill  in  earnest  conversation. 

"I  am  so  very,  very  sorry,  Mr.  Gill,"  I  murmured 
remorsefully.  "Let  me  dry  your  cuffs  with  my 
handkerchief,"  and  I  drew  it  out,  forgetting,  until  I 
saw  it,  that  it  was  what  Janey  called  a  make-believe, 
and  not  the  real  article.  A  square  of  green-sprigged 
muslin,  carelessly  hemmed,  once  a  gown  of  Lydia's, 
then  a  frock  for  Janey,  at  last  eight  handkerchiefs. 
In  some  places  the  green  sprigs  had  become  holes. 
Mr.  Gill  gallantly  pretended  not  to  be  surprised  by 
this  curious  bit  of  economy  on  the  part  of  Miss 
Braithe  of  Braithe  Manor,  but  he  seemed  agitated 
when  I  tried  to  dry  his  cuffs.  "It  is  a  shame,  when 
you  looked  so  nice,  and  were  so  kind  in  helping  me ! 
See,  the  frame  is  just  where  it  should  be;  I  could 
never  have  managed  it  alone.  Janey  will  be  de- 
lighted." 

"Don't  mention  it,  Miss  Braithe,  don't  mention 
it!"  he  said  hurriedly,  and  followed  me  up  the  bank, 
blushing  deeply. 

Mr.  Gill  was  an  astute  young  man,  and  knew  how 
to  keep  on  the  right  side  of  his  elderly  wife.  This 
he  proved  by  walking  a  little  behind  me  on  our  way 
to  the  buggy,  and  by  taking  advantage  of  my  speak- 

3 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

ing  with  Mrs.  Gill,  to  mount  quickly  beside  her,  and 
conceal  his  damp  trouser  leg  in  the  folds  of  her 
gown.  They  drove  off  in  high  good-humor,  some- 
thing that  Mr.  Gill  said  in  a  low  tone  seeming  to 
please  Mrs.  Gill  mightily. 

"Her  spectacles  chock-full  of  dust!"  said  Janey, 
climbing  slowly  into  her  cart. 

"Dust,  Janey?" 

"Yes,  Theo,  yes;  the  dust  of  his  flattery.  And 
he  fairly  busting  with  pride  because  of  you!  Well, 
you  got  the  frame  fixed,  anyway."  And  she  laughed 
in  her  elfish  fashion. 

"Did  you  remember  to  thank  her  for  the  cream, 
Goldilocks?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  irritably,  "and  I  hope  she  won't 
send  any  more.  I  know,  I  know,  Theo;  you  needn't 
trouble  to  say  'she  means  to  be  kind'!  I  know  that 
as  well  as  you,  but  she  does  ask  such  tiresome  ques- 
tions; and  I  had  to  keep  her  talking,  because  of 
your  ways.  It's  always,  'How  old  are  you,  dearie?' 
'Ten,  Mrs.  Gill.'  'And  you  look  eight,  and  talk 
fourteen!'  Then  she  sighs,  and  admires  my  hair" 
— the  child  glanced  at  the  splendid  masses  that 
shrouded  her  to  the  waist — "but  she  says  to  her- 
self, 'Poor  hunchbacked  little  creature!  I  must 
send  her  something.' — There!  Charles  Stuart's 
digging  again!  Chevalier,  Chevalier!  Come,  sir, 
come!" 

It  was  mid-October.  The  locust  trees,  lined  up 
on  either  side  the  avenue,  like  a  guard  of  honor,  wore 
uniforms  of  gold.  Many  of  the  dark  cedars,  climb- 
ing the  opposite  hill-side,  had  mantles  of  scarlet 
woodbine.  The  Chevalier,  racing  across  the  bridge 
to  join  us,  looked  like  a  yellow  leaf,  whirled  along 
by  the  wind. 

"He  should  drag  me  up  this  hill,  not  you,  Theo!" 
said  Janey.  "I'm  sorry  I  was  cross  just  now.  I 

4 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

remembered  it  was  your  birthday,  too.  I  was  afraid 
Mrs.  Gill  might  ask  your  age,  but  she  didn't.  I 
meant  to  lie  if  she  did.  I  should  hate  to  hear  her 
say,  'Twenty-three — and  not  married  yet!  I  want 
to  know!'  How  could  you  possibly  care  to  marry, 
with  father  in  the  house — but  Mrs.  Gill's  a  fool. 
Father's  certainly  a  scourge — a  scourge  of  scorpions. 
Why  do  they  make  the  devil  a  dark  man,  Theo? 
Oh,  I  know !  It's  because  he  contrasts  better  with  the 
red-and-yellow  hell  behind  him.  For  the  ice-and- 
snow  hell  I  should  think  a  fair  D.  would  go  better. 
Father  would  make  a  splendid  one.  He  has  such  a 
nasty  expression  in  his  blue  eyes — the  real  Braithe 
look!  I  haven't  it  in  mine,  have  I,  Theo?"  in  a  sud- 
den agony  of  fear.  "Say  I  haven't,  say  it  quick!" 

"Goose!  Your  blue  eyes  are  lovely,  and  you 
know  it,  little  vain  thing!  Want  any  more  compli- 
ments, missy?  Now's  your  time,  because  it's  my 
birthday.  Shall  I  crown  the  Cats  with. red  leaves  in 
its  honor?" 

We  had  reached  the  gate  in  the  iron  fence  that 
inclosed  the  lawns  and  gardens,  shutting  them  off 
from  the  meadow-land  edging  the  avenue  thus  far. 
On  the  stone  pillars  of  the  gate  sat  stone  leopards, 
holding  each,  close  clasped  to  his  breast,  a  shield  bear- 
ing the  Braithe  motto : 

GAKE   GRIFFES. 

Snarling,  langs  bared,  quite  ready,  although  one 
had  lost  a  forepaw,  and  long  neglect,  with  years  of 
Exposure  to  wind  and  weather,  had  made  them  a 
mouldy  pair  enough! 

"They  are  the  image  of  father,"  said  little  Jane. 
"No,  don't  crown  them,  Theo.  Why,  look!  There 
comes  a  buggy  down  the  avenue" — we  kept  no 
horses.  "O  Theo,  it's  father!  I  shall  flee!" 

5 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

This  she  did,  hopping  out  of  the  cart  and  diving  un- 
der the  fence,  homeward.  I  waited,  standing  near 
the  Leopards. 

The  buggy  drew  up  between  the  pillars,  and  my 
father  got  out. 

"Drive  on  a  bit,  please,  Abel,"  he  said  to  Mrs. 
Gill's  eldest  son,  Abel  Wylde,  who  was  driving  him. 
"I  wish  to  say  good-by  to  Miss  Braithe." 

I  answered  Abel's  greeting;  and  took  time  to  in- 
quire after  his  ever  feeble  health,  to  the  great,  though 
suppressed  annoyance  of  Mr.  Braithe.  Himself  ever 
courteous  to  outsiders,  he  resented  his  children's  efforts 
toward  good  manners,  never  imagining  that  they  might 
feel  the  kindliness  they  expressed. 

"Why  waste  time  on  that  idiot,  Theodora?"  he 
asked,  when  Abel  had  at  last  driven  on.  "Not  that 
I  mean  to  find  fault,  love,"  smiling  unpleasantly, 
"but  I  am  going  to  town.  I  only  stopped  to  offer 
my  congratulations  to  my  beautiful  daughter  upon 
her  birthday,"  and  he  kissed  my  cheek. 

I  knew  he  had  something  disagreeable  to  say. 
Something  particularly  disagreeable,  that  is — he 
never  said  anything  pleasant.  He  would  wish,  I  also 
knew,  to  make  me  lose  my  temper  and  answer  back. 
I  determined  not  to  gratify  him. 

"I  have  the  opal  in  my  pocket,"  he  went  on, 
speaking  slowly,  his  musical,  low-toned  voice  exqui- 
sitely modulated,  as  always — as  always,  never  mind 
how  outrageous  or  wicked  his  words  might  be:  a 
Braithe  inheritance.  "The  Gypsy's  Opal,  Theo,  that 
your  dear  mother  brought  into  the  family,  along  with 
a  very  pretty  dowry."  He  sighed  heavily.  "Yes, 
I  can't  but  own  that  my  two  other  matches  have 
been  mistakes — cruel  mistakes.  Brought  about  by 
proximity — a  lonely  country-house — a  sensitive  nat- 
ure!" 

Thus  he  kept  me  on  the  rack  as  long  as  possible. 
6 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

The  twin  Leopards  on  their  high  perches  grinned  in 
sympathy.  Tall,  graceful,  fair,  he  stood  in  front  of 
his  ancestral  shield;  an  aristocrat  from  the  crown  of 
his  well-poised  head  to  the  soles  of  his  high-arched 
feet. 

"I  was  sorry  when  you  proved  to  be  a  girl,  Theo- 
dora, but  I  bore  your  mother  no  grudge;  she  had 
treated  me  fairly  otherwise.  When  your  first  gov- 
erness, Lilian's  mother,  brought  another  girl  to 
Braithe,  I  own  I  thought  her  ungrateful;  but  it  was 
left  to  Lydia  to  insult  our  House  by  disgracing  it 
with  a  hunch-backed  brat." 

He  ceased  speaking,  wishing  me  to  cry  out  fiercely 
— as  once  before — whose  fault  it  was  that  my  dar- 
ling's spine  grew  wrong;  to  denounce  him  yet  again 
for  the  viciously  careless  push  that  had  hurled  a  mere 
baby  down  the  flight  of  steep  stone  steps  to  the  hard 
flagging  below.  I  stood  quite  still,  silent,  denying 
him  satisfaction.  He  was  disappointed,  but  other 
arrows  remained  in  his  quiver. 

"Well,  well,  I  will  not  sadden  the  birthday  of  the 
Beauty  of  Braithe  by  harping  on  forgiven  injuries." 
He  took  from  his  breast  pocket  a  jewel-case  of 
mother-of-pearl,  large,  in  shape  oval,  and  held  it  in 
his  hand.  "I  hoped  to  clasp  this  about  your  throat 
on  your  wedding-day,  Theodora,  but  I  am  convinced 
that  that  day  will  never  arrive.  You  have  inherited 
from  my  side  of  the  house  a  fatal  fondness  for  idle 
— may  I  use  the  vulgar  word — flirtation?  The  only 
expressive  one  really,  for  you  are  no  coquette,  my 
daughter.  You  share  with  me  the  desire  to  please. 
A  praiseworthy  desire  in  itself,  only,  most  unfortu- 
nately, it  sometimes — twice  in  my  case — carries 
one  too  far.  A  woman,  however,  may  draw  back  at 
the  last  moment;  as  you  have  always  done.  I  don't 
blame  you,  Theo.  How  pale  you  are,  my  love! 
And  your  expression,  quite  odd.  So  must  your 

7 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

Scotch  ancestress  have  looked  when  she  dragged  the 
gypsy  girl  into  her  coach  and,  leaning  from  its  win- 
dow, beat  the  ringleader  of  the  pursuing  mob  across 
the  face  with  her  fan.  You  are  very  pale;  are  you 
ill?" 

I  shook  my  head,  without  speaking.  I  dared  not 
unleash  my  unruly  tongue. 

"This  opal  might  bring  you  good  luck.  But  no, 
it  could  not;  it  hung  at  your  mother's  throat  the  day 
she  had  heart-failure,  and  died.  I  was  on  my  way 
to  her  to  break  the  news  of  our  loss  of  fortune — but 
she  was  gone,  poor  girl!  Do  opals  lose  their  lustre 
from  being  shut  away,  Theo?  It  looks  dull  to  me," 
and  he  opened  the  case. 

There  it  lay,  my  mother's  opal — for  it  was  no 
Braithe  jewel — my  opal;  yes,  mine,  by  every  law  of 
man.  A  great  oval  gem,  clasped  close  by  its  curious 
setting,  a  snake  of  dull  gold,  with  its  tail  in  its 
mouth — the  symbol  of  eternity.  The  jewel  did  look 
dull — all  pale  lavenders  and  grays.  Mr.  Braithe 
eyed  it  peevishly  and,  forgetting  his  amiable  role, 
broke  out  into  sweet-voiced  complaints. 

"Just  my  damned  bad  luck  if  the  cursed  stone 
should  go  back  on  me  at  the  last  moment!  I  wish 
to  the  Lord  I'd  sold  it  years  ago!  Rappelle  would 
have  bought  it  at  the  first  chance.  All  Lydia's  do- 
ing— sickly-faced,  mewling  cat!  Curse  her  supersti- 
tious fancies!  It's  enough  to  drive  a  man  mad  to 
live  in  the  same  house  with  the  two  of  you:  you, 
with  your  everlasting  canting  religion,  and  she — " 
He  handed  me  the  case.  "Look  at  it,  can't  you?  Is 
there  anything  amiss  with  the  damned  thing?" 

The  blood  rushed  into  my  cheeks  as  I  obeyed. 
What  if  he  should  not  sell  it,  after  all?  It  was  not 
his,  but  mine ;  he  had  no  right  to  take  it  from  me.  I 
looked  lovingly  at  the  gem,  which  suddenly  blazed 
with  color.  Vivid  greens  and  crimsons  flashed  across 

8 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

its  smooth  surface.  My  father  seized  it,  staring 
angrily. 

"Are  you  in  league  with  the  devil?"  he  cried, 
musically;  and  shutting  the  case  with  a  snap,  thrust 
it  into  his  pocket  and  strode  away. 

The  buggy  rolled  down  the  avenue;  the  October 
sunshine  filled  the  air  with  pleasant  warmth,  but  I 
— I  felt  cold. 


n 

When  Vivian  de  Vere  Braithe  quarrelled  with  his 
brother,  Theodore,  the  Head  of  the  House,  he  left 
England  to  seek  a  home  in  America.  He  not  only 
failed  to  warn  Theodore  of  this  important  step,  but 
went  away  as  quietly  as  possible,  taking  with  him  his 
brother's  promised  bride,  and  as  many  valuables  as  he 
could  lay  his  hands  on.  "With  this  loot  Vivian  pur- 
chased a  large  tract  of  land  on  the  Hudson  River,  and 
built  himself  as  exact  a  copy  as  was  possible  of  the  old 
Manor  House  in  England — secret  chambers,  hidden 
passages,  heraldic  devices,  and  all. 

By  the  time  Theodore  de  Vere  Braithe  had  discov- 
ered Vivian's  whereabouts  the  war  with  England  be- 
gan; and  Vivian,  lustily  espousing  the  cause  of  his 
adopted  country,  escaped  punishment. 

like  all  the  Braithes,  he  possessed  great  physical 
courage,  delighting,  probably,  in  the  exhilaration  that 
danger  brings.  And  he  won  not  only  high  praise  by 
his  bravery,  but  a  most  devoted  henchman  as  well,  in 
one  Etienne  Rappellet  Frenchman,  and  private  sol- 
dier. My  great-great-great-grandfather  had  carried 
this  young  man,  badly  wounded,  from  the  field  of  bat- 
tle, at  the  risk  of  his  own  life.  Had  he  chanced  upon 
the  stranger  lying,  in  equal  need  of  assistance,  in 
some  lonely  wood-path,  would  old  Vivian  have  rescued 
him?  I  fear  not;  the  good  Samaritan  being  no  kin  of 
the  Braithes. 

Etienne  Rappelle  served  his  rescuer  faithfully  all 
his  life;  and  trained  his  only  son,  the  second  Etienne, 

10 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

to  follow  in  his  footsteps.  The  third  Etienne,  how- 
ever, declined  to  remain  in  the  Braithe  service,  al- 
though, like  his  father,  he  took  a  solemn  oath  always 
to  stand  by  the  family.  Going  to  one  of  our  "Western 
towns,  he  began  his  career  as  errand-boy  in  a  grocery 
shop ;  and  as  he  was  shrewd,  industrious,  and  severely 
economical,  he  prospered  with  the  town,  becoming 
its  chief  banker.  When  he  died  the  town  had  grown 
a  large  city,  and  his  death  was  felt  to  be  a  public 
loss. 

My  father  looked  down  upon  Etienne  IV,  the  gro- 
cer's son,  as  he  scornfully  called  him.  Mr.  Rappelle 
inherited  his  father's  talent  for  finance,  and,  it  was 
said,  had  already  doubled  the  large  fortune  left  him. 
I  sometimes  wondered  if  he,  too,  had  been  obliged  to 
take  the  ridiculous  old  oath  of  allegiance  to  the 
Braithes.  I  feared  that  he  had;  and  that  my  father, 
the  present  Vivian  de  Vere  Braithe,  did  not  scruple 
to  avail  himself  of  the  Rappelle  money.  How  else 
could  he  afford  to  dress  so  well,  to  spend  so  much  time 
in  town,  putting  up  at  one  of  the  most  expensive 
clubs?  I  had  never  met  Mr.  Rappelle;  I  hoped  I 
might  never  meet  him;  I  felt  I  should  be  ashamed  to 
look  him  in  the  face,  with  Mr.  Braithe's  purse  full  of 
Rappelle  dollars. 

My  stepmother,  Lydia,  had  a  small,  a  very  small, 
annuity.  On  this  we  lived;  and  besides  her  pittance, 
my  father  declared  we  had  not  a  cent  in  the  world. 
Because  of  our  poverty  Mr.  Braithe  took  us  to  Europe 
when  I  was  fourteen;  and  there  we  remained,  drift- 
ing from  one  cheap  pension  to  another,  until  my  twen- 
ty-first birthday,  when,  for  the  sake  of  a  problematical 
legacy,  he  brought  us  home.  The  legacy  was  to  have 
been  left  Lilian  by  a  rich  great-uncle,  but  she  was  not 
even  mentioned  in  his  will;  and  the  expense  of  the 
home-coming,  and  of  Lilian's  journey,  a  long  one,  to 
visit  this  rich  relative,  left  us  very  much  out  of  pocket. 

11 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

l 

We  lived  quite  alone  at  Braithe  Manor.  There 
"were  agreeable,  well-bred  people  in  Hilltown,  seven 
miles  south  of  Braithe,  and  others  owning  country- 
seats  in  its  vicinity.  My  mother  had  known  many  of 
these  families,  and  so  soon  as  we  were  at  home  again 
they  hastened,  in  friendly  fashion,  to  welcome  us 
back. 

"We  don't  live  in  a  style  to  permit  our  enjoying 
social  intercourse  with  our  equals,"  Mr.  Braithe  an- 
nounced in  his  sweet-toned  voice,  "and  I'm  damned  if 
I'll  stand  being  condescended  to  by  them.  Your  pre- 
tence of  ill  health  may  be  turned  into  some  service 
now,  Lydia.  Say  you're  not  able  to  return  their 
cursed  patronizing  calls;  do  you  hear  me?  Send 
cards,  Madam  Hypochondriac,  cards.  The  girls  ?  No, 
they  shan't  go,  either.  Theo's  too  fast,  and  Lilian's 
too  slatternly.  I'm  ashamed  of  the  lot  of  you.  Stay 
at  home." 

This  we  did,  and  when  Lydia  and  Janey  were  not 
suffering,  or  Lilian  too  discontented,  I  was  sufficiently 
happy.  Unable  to  pay  good  wages,  we  rarely  had  a 
servant,  and  I  was  busy  from  morning  till  night;  I 
think  this  work  did  me  no  harm,  since  it  left  me  little 
time  for  grumbling;  but  when  I  crossed  the  lawn  on 
my  way  to  the  house  that  fine  October  morning,  my 

'  heart  was  filled  to  the  brim  with  bitterness.  Seeing 
Lydia  coming  to  meet  me,  I  tried  to  keep  this  feeling 
from  showing  in  my  face.  Poor  little  fragile  Lydia! 

i  Once  pretty — a  pink-cheeked,  small-featured  blonde 
— she  had  faded  and  become  prematurely  old.  As 
she  drew  near  I  saw  tha*  her  worn  face  was  even  more 
drawn  and  pinched  than  usual.  I  put  out  my  hand 
to  her. 

"Don't  take  it  so  hard,  Lydia !"  I  said  with  assumed 
cheerfulness.  "The  opal  was  always  in  his  desk,  you 
know — I  never  really  owned  it.  I  shall  mind  your 

.worrying  yourself  ill  much  more  than  its  loss." 

12 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"How  dared  he!"  she  said,  faintly.  "Oh,  how 
dared  he!" 

The  house,  built  of  bits  of  stone  welded  together 
with  plaster — in  old  Revolutionary  fashion — now 
loomed  above  us.  Little  Jane  appeared  on  its  thresh- 
old, swinging  wide  the  heavy  oaken  door,  and  looking 
down  upon  us  from  the  top  of  the  long  flight  of  stone 
steps. 

"Has  he  really,  really  gone?"  she  cried.  Then, 
nodding  at  her  mother,  "Le  roi  est  mort,  mort,  mart !" 
she  sang.  "Vive  la  reine!"  And  she  began  to  dance 
lightly  back  and  forth — a  fairy  child,  with  her  spar- 
kling eyes  and  mane  of  golden  hair,  against  the  yawn- 
ing portal,  black  as  the  mouth  of  a  cavern. 

"Hush,  Jane,  hush!"  said  Lydia,  sharply. 

Turning  to  look  at  her,  I  was  horrified  by  her 
pallor. 

"Janey  won't  fall,  Lydia,"  I  said,  thinking  the 
child's  position  the  cause  of  her  change  of  color. 
"Lean  on  me,  pray,"  and  I  put  my  arm  around  her. 

Little  Jane  paused  in  her  dance,  bewildered.  "Do 
I  frighten  you,  mummy?"  she  queried. 

"What's  up?"  asked  a  sweet,  melodious  voice  from 
the  hall,  and  Lilian  lounged  into  view.  Lilian's  voice 
was  intensely  ladylike;  her  words  not  always  so. 
She  was  tall  and  graceful,  her  pretty  fair  hair  as  soft 
and  fleecy  as  corn-silk,  and  her  eyes  the  Braithe  blue. 
She  had  no  color  unless  pleasantly  excited;  then  a 
wild-rose  flush  appeared.  This  seldom  happened  at 
Braithe,  pleasant  excitements  being  of  rare  occur- 
rence. Sometimes  this  color  came  when  I  wondered 
to  see  it,  Lilian  and  I  not  always  agreeing  as  to  what 
was  pleasant. 

"What's  up?"  she  repeated.  "Oh,  I  see.  Lydia 
faint  with  joy  over  the  departure  of  darling  pa! 
Goodness,  what  a  relief  it  is  to  get  rid  of  him  I  I 
think  you  might  choose  the  time  he's  home,  Lydia,  to 

13 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

be  sick;  it's  disgustingly  mean  of  you  to  make  us  un- 
comfortable now." 

She  sank  down  on  the  upper  step,  and,  leaning  her 
pretty  head  against  the  house  wall,  looked  with  con- 
temptuous dislike  at  her  stepmother. 

"Lilian,"  said  Lydia,  solemnly,  and  as  if  sure  of  in- 
stant comprehension  and  sympathy,  "Lilian,  he  has 
taken,  and  means  to  sell — the  Gypsy's  Opal!" 

"Good  God!"  cried  Lilian,  springing  to  her  feet, 
the  wild-rose  pink  flushing  her  pale  cheeks;  he's 
mad." 

Stooping,  she  pulled  up  her  slipper — one  or  the 
other  was  always  trodden  down  at  the  heel — and 
scuffed  down  the  steps  to  Lydia. 

When  superstitious  fancies  took  possession  of  my 
sister  and  stepmother  they  buried  the  hatchet  and 
were  in  complete  sympathy.  I  went  on  into  the  house, 
wishing  I  might  take  Janey  with  me,  for  she  was  ea- 
gerly listening  to  her  elders'  unwise  discussion;  but 
her  mother  approved  of  her  hearing  everything,  so  I 
was  powerless. 

The  entrance  hall,  though  well-sized,  served  as  a 
mere  vestibule  to  the  larger  one,  which,  occupying 
the  middle  of  the  house,  rose  to  the  roof.  A  gallery 
gave  access  to  the  bedrooms;  and  it  was  lighted  by  a 
small,  insufficient  skylight  far  above.  This  main  hall 
ran  across  the  house,  from  the  north  to  the  south 
wing,  and  in  its  great  fireplace  an  ox  might  have  been 
roasted  whole.  Directly  opposite  the  entrance  door, 
the  fireplace  must,  in  the  lifetime  of  old  Vivian,  have 
given  a  cheerful  welcome  to  each  incoming  guest, 
with  its  blazing  logs  as  promise  of  plenty.  Without  a 
fire  in  its  black  depths  it  was  but  a  terror  the  more  to 
the  bedward  going  child,  possessed  of  a  vivid  imagi- 
nation— and  one  flaring  candle.  I  had  rarely  seen  a 
fire  upon  that  hearth.  The  hall  was  always  dark  and 
gloomy;  so  dark,  indeed,  that  one  could  scarcely 

14 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

decipher  the  verse  carved  on  the  oak  panel  above 
the  chimney-piece: 

Seed,  Xeafe,  Stalfce,  yioure 

t>ave  evil  Savour. 
pliflbt  troutbe  if  aitb  and  tionour, 

H?0avc5  \vclc  JSrattbe  /Ratio c. 
"Mew  leaf  c,  Stalhe,  ffloure, 

1>ave  soot  fair  Savour. 

As  a  child  I  had  thought  "soot"  meant  chimney- 
black,  and  that  the  last  line  of  the  verse  said  the  same, 
ironically,  as  the  second.  Lydia  taught  me  that  soot 
meant  sweet  in  old  English,  and  wished  me  to  share 
her  belief  that  a  meaning,  a  prophecy  of  great  wis- 
dom, lurked  in  the  quaint  doggerel.  Poor  Lydia! 
The  mass  of  picturesque  nonsense  connected  with 
Braithe  was  very  dear  to  her.  She  and  Lilian  be- 
lieved, and  cherished,  every  superstition  belonging  to 
the  House.  I  sometimes  fancied  they  regretted  that 
the  family  ghost  had,  perforce,  been  left  behind  in 
England,  where  there  was  no  longer  a  Braithe  Manor, 
the  old  home  having  burned  down,  and  its  lands  hav- 
ing passed  into  other  hands.  The  English  Braithes 
had  died  out — and  this  was  well.  A  bad  race,  alas! 
Often  and  often  have  I  wished  that  no  Braithe  blood 
tainted  my  veins. 

Opening  the  tall  mahogany  door  to  the  right  of  the 
chimney-place,  I  entered  the  drawing-room,  through 
whose  six  French  windows  you  looked  across  a  pillared 
portico,  over  the  river,  to  the  Highlands  that  barred 
the  southeastern  horizon — an  exquisite  view.  The 
long  drawing-room  had  a  chimney-place  at  either  end. 
Over  one  hung  a  portrait  of  my  father;  over  the  other 
my  mother,  in  a  gown  of  pink  satin,  a  pink  rose  in  her 
brown  hair,  and  around  her  slender  throat  a  diamond 
chain,  supporting  the  Gypsy's  Opal.  From  its  place 
beneath  this  portrait  I  took  down  a  miniature,  in  a 

15 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

gold  frame.  It  represented  a  very  beautiful  woman 
who,  like  my  mother,  wore  the  opal  on  its  diamond 
chain  about  her  neck.  Her  hair,  soft  and  dark,  as 
black  as  velvet,  rippled  back  from  a  broad,  low  brow; 
her  long  gray  eyes  shone  out  beneath  level,  delicately 
pencilled  black  eyebrows. 

"Dear  me,  Theo,  how  lovely  she  is!"  said  Jane,  sud- 
denly, in  her  clear  treble.  She  had  slipped  into  the 
room  after  me,  and  having  climbed  a  chair,  peeped  at 
the  miniature  over  my  shoulder.  "See  her  little 
straight  nose,  Theo,  and  her  pretty  mouth,  with  its 
smiling  corners!  Let  me  kiss  the  dimple  in  her  chin, 
because  it's  her  birthday,  you  know,"  and  tilting  my 
head  back  she  kissed,  not  the  miniature,  but  me. 
"Mother  says  you  are  one  and  the  same,  Theo,"  the 
child  went  on,  "the  Countess  born  again.  How  splen- 
did you  must  have  looked  when  you  opened  the  door 
of  your  coach  and  gave  the  poor  gypsy  sanctuary!" 
— Janey  was  not  particular  as  to  the  words  she  used, 
provided  they  were  strong — "when  you  stood  front- 
ing the  mob,  who  wanted  to  drag  her  from  behind  you, 
and  struck  the  ringleader  across  the  face  with  your 
fan!  Blazing  in  satin  and  jewels,  the  tall  houses  of 
smoky  Edinburgh  shutting  in  the  narrow,  dirty 
street,  but  not  shutting  down  your  courage,  Theo,  as 
you  called  to  your  postillions  to  'Ride  the  dogs 
down!'" 

The  child's  voice  rang  out  shrill  in  her  excitement, 
echoing  through  the  lofty  room.  Then,  eying  me 
with  intense  curiosity,  she  asked,  "How  did  you  feel 
just  after,  Theo?  Can  you  remember?  All  shaky 
and  queer?  Was  your  fan  broken,  and  did  it  have 
jewelled  sticks?  The  opal  was  on  the  gypsy's  bosom 
then,  and  protected  her,  mother  says.  After,  when, 
in  her  gratitude,  she  gave  it  to  you — then  the  Count- 
ess— was  her  luck  lost,  do  you  think?  See,  the  jewel 
gleams  in  the  picture!  As  bright,  in  its  odd  way,  as 

16 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

the  diamonds  of  its  chain.  Your  mother  had  the 
chain,  too.  But  you  have  nothing,  nothing,  my  poor 
Theo — save  the  Countess's  beautiful  face.  That 
father  cannot  take  away!"  She  began  to  cry,  overex- 
cited by  what  she  had  heard.  "They  say  the  opal  will, 
avenge  you,"  she  sobbed,  resisting  my  efforts  to  soothe 
her;  "that  if  you  could  hold  it,  even  for  one  minute, 
your  luck  would  change ;  that  father's  bad  luck  comes 
from  his  shutting  it  away  from  you,  and  that 
now " 

"Hush,  Janey,  hush!"  I  cried.  "Don't  believe 
these  fairy  tales." 

"Fairy  tales!"  echoed  the  child,  contemptuously; 
"bogie  stories  I  call  'em.  Oh,  here  they  come."  And 
Lydia  entered  with  Lilian,  the  latter,  as  usual,  stop- 
ping in  the  doorway  to  right  her  slipper. 

Lilian  was  untidy;  she  always  declared  she  would 
be  neat  if  she  were  rich.  Because  of  the  little  excite- 
ment, a  pleasant  one  to  her,  her  cheeks  were  pink  and 
she  looked  very  pretty  if  a  trifle  unkempt,  with  hair 
coming  down. 

"O  Theo,"  she  exclaimed,  seeing  the  miniature  in 
my  hand,  "what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"Hide  this,"  I  said,  bitterly,  "lest  it  prove  too 
tempting  for  Braithe  honor." 

She  exchanged  a  glance  with  Lydia ;  one  of  hungry 
curiosity.  I  rose  to  leave  the  room.  Angry  with  Mr. 
Braithe,  I  feared  I  might  become  irritable  and  dis- 
agreeable did  I  remain  longer  with  those  who,  though 
innocent,  were  aggravating. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  Lilian. 

"To  the  Cell  of  Flagellation,"  I  said,  knowing  she 
would  not  care  to  follow  me  there;  and  hurried  away. 


IT 


ni 

The  windows  of  my  room  looked  to  the  west,  across 
the  broad  lawn,  between  the  Leopards  of  the  gate,  far 
down  the  avenue  of  locusts.  Braithe  House  stood  on 
the  edge  of  a  noble  plateau,  whose  steep,  well-wooded 
banks  rose  grandly  from  the  river  both  on  the  east 
and  south,  and  from  the  little  valley  on  the  west. 
Northward,  the  land  sloped  upward  to  Braithe  Farm. 

I  could  not  see  the  river  from  these  windows;  but  I 
had  a  charming  view  of  the  sunset,  through  the  tall 
rows  of  locust-trees.  Next  to  my  room — that  to  the 
uninitiated  appeared  to  occupy  the  entire  space  above 
the  entrance  hall — was  the  secret  chamber,  called  by 
Jane  the  Cell  of  Flagellation,  because  I  often  retired 
there  to  do  penance  for  my  many  shortcomings  and 
to  pray  for  guidance.  It  was,  in  reality,  a  narrow  cell 
of  stone,  dimly  lighted  by  a  mere  slit  in  the  outside 
wall.  In  the  English  house  a  Vivian  Braithe — they 
were  all  Vivians,  Herberts,  and  Theodores — had  shut 
up  his  eldest  son,  Theodore,  in  the  secret  chamber,  and 
there  starved  him  to  death.  Theodore  walked,  as  the 
country  people  say;  and,  so  runs  the  story,  the  wicked 
father  not  only  had  no  fear  of  his  son's  ghost,  but  used 
politely  to  salute  it  whenever  it  crossed  his  path. 

Because  this  poor  starved  Theodore  had  remained 
in  his  own  country,  "in  his  own  haunts,"  Mr.  Braithe 
punningly  said,  I  was  allowed  to  use  the  new  secret 
chamber  openly.  The  hidden  passages  in  the  enor- 
mously thick  walls,  and  their  communication  with  the 
outer  world,  remained  a  secret  between  Mr.  Braithe 

18 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

and  me — as  eldest  child — according  to  long-estab- 
lished custom. 

Upon  my  return  from  Europe  I  had  been  taken  by 
my  father  through  all  the  By-Ways  of  Braithe;  a 
chart  of  the  House  had  been  placed  in  my  possession, 
and  I  had  taken  the  old  oath  not  to  reveal,  save  under 
certain  conditions,  my  secret,  to  any  but  my  heir. 
These  musty,  time-worn  tradtions  were  exceedingly 
distasteful  to  me;  seeming  foolish,  and  out  of  place  in 
an  American  family.  The  past  glory  of  Braithe 
sprang  from  rapine  and  crime.  A  rank  poisonous 
flower,  it  deserved  to  wither;  to  die  down  out  of 
sight. 

The  secret  cell  was  entered  by  a  narrow  door,  cun- 
ningly concealed  behind  a  part  of  the  wainscot,  that 
slid  to  one  side  on  pressing  a  hidden  spring.  But  as 
yet  my  mind  was  in  too  angry  a  state  of  turmoil  to 
turn  toward  prayer.  I  dared  not  seek  help  and  guid- 
ance until  I  had  made  myself  more  worthy  of  receiv- 
ing them,  by  first  governing  and  beating  down  the 
Braithe  spirit  that  held  possession.  For  my  father  had 
been  right  in  what  he  had  said  of  my  fatal  fondness 
for  flirtation — since  that  is  the  word  commonly  used 
to  describe  an  overmastering  desire  to  please — and  it 
was  the  knowledge  of  this  baleful  inheritance  that  was 
now,  in  turn,  rousing  that  other,  my  Braithe  temper. 
This  last,  however,  I  sometimes  hoped  might  not  have 
come  from  the  Braithes,  since  with  it  ran  no  tendency 
to  sneer. 

I  sat  down  by  my  open  window,  and  leaning  my  el- 
bows on  the  wide  stone  sill  stared  absently  across  the 
broad  sweep  of  lawn,  out  between  the  Leopards  and  the 
long  rows  of  locust-trees,  to  the  cedar-crowned  hill  that 
ended  the  vista.  That  stern  judge,  Conscience,  called 
me  before  its  bar,  and  bade  me  review  my  conduct. 
Even  an  hour  ago  I  had  yielded  to  my  liking  for  what 
Lydia,  who  had  for  me  a  blind  affection,  called  diver- 

19 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

sion.  I  had  enjoyed  the  swiftness  with  which  Mr.  Gill 
had  responded  to  my  unspoken  appeal  for  help  with 
the  hot-bed  frame;  although — this  the  Braithe  de- 
mon, my  hated  familiar  wickedly  whispered — I  had 
not  tried  to  gain  his  aid.  .No,  I  had  merely  left  my 
eyes  to  their  own  devices.  Must  you  close  them  then  ? 
asked  the  demon. 

How  might  I  ever  learn  to  conquer  this  failing,  I 
wondered.  Since  Lydia's  first  coming  to  Braithe, 
when  she  had  at  once  taught  me  that  in  order  to 
judge  others  fairly  we  must  first  judge  ourselves;  that 
in  order  to  be  innocuous  toward  our  fellows,  we  must 
pull  up  all  weeds  liable  to  do  damage ;  ever  since  then 
I  had  been  struggling  with  this  poisonous  Braithe  ivy. 
But  it  clung  tenaciously,  in  spite  of  my  every  effort 
to  tear  it  away. 

As  I  stared,  unseeing,  from  my  window,  I  remem- 
bered some  who  had  suffered  from  my  Braithe 
ways.  The  kindly  English  clergyman,  who  had 
grown  to  care  far  too  much  for  me.  Here  the  Braithe 
demon  again  remonstrated:  Why  blame  yourself? 
You  thought  he  was  fond  of  you  as  a  daughter,  mere- 
ly— until  too  late. 

I  tried  not  to  listen  to  this  specious  pleading,  but 
hastened  to  bring  another  skeleton  from  out  of  my 
overfull  cupboard.  I  thought  of  the  handsome  offi- 
cer, the  young  German,  who  had  come  to  the  English 
pension  where  we  were  wintering — in  a  certain  Ger- 
man Bad — to  study  English.  He  had  shot  himself. 
God  help  me,  I  had  never  dared  ask  why. 

I  sprang  to  my  feet  and  moved  restlessly  about  the 
room,  pausing,  at  last,  before  two  photographs  hung 
one  above  the  other:  a  handsome  man,  and  a  boy, 
more  handsome  still.  Mr.  Braithe — my  father — and 
my  first  cousin,  Herbert  Braithe  Fayne.  The  two  re- 
sembled each  other  closely;  and  I  had  always  thought 
it  was  because  of  this  resemblance,  and  not  because 

20 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

Herbert  was  an  orphan,  that  he  had  almost  lived  at 
the  Manor  before  we  went  abroad. 

"Herbert  ought  to  be  my  heir,  not  you,  Theodora," 
Mr.  Braithe  had  often  said.  "He  is  a  true  Braithe  in 

looks  as  in  nature ;  while  you "  But  he  had  no 

words  in  which  to  express  his  scorn  further. 

I  wondered,  as  I  scrutinized  closely  the  beautiful 
face  of  the  boy,  if  he  had  grown  into  as  handsome  a 
man  as  he  then  promised.  For  he  had  been  very  beau- 
tiful. When  I  felt  kindly  toward  him,  I  had  been 
wont  to  call  him  Apollo  Belvedere ;  when  irritated  by 
his  Braithe  tendencies,  Alcibiades  the  Perverted. 

Even  in  the  photograph  his  blonde  beauty  shone 
forth  resplendent.  The  small  head,  with  its  thick, 
fair  curls,  thrown  back  so  carelessly,  as  though  the 
better  to  meet  the  friendly  admiration  that  must  sure- 
ly fall  to  his  share ;  the  delicate  aquiline  nose,  the  large 
eyes — blue  as  sapphires  and,  sometimes,  as  hard — the 
Grecian  mouth  with  its  sensuous  curves,  the  easy 
poise  of  the  graceful  figure,  all  were  there.  And,  as 
I  looked,  I  remembered  the  strange  nature  that  these 
handsome  features  concealed.  The  apparent  impossi- 
bility, on  the  part  of  this  beautiful  youth,  to  distin- 
guish between  right  and  wrong;  the  insinuating  grace 
of  manner  with  which  he  strove  to  blind  the  eyes  of 
others  to  his  too  frequent  lapses  from  well-doing.  In 
the  days  when  he  had  lived  at  the  Manor  I  had  not 
learned,  through  Lydia's  teaching,  to  make  allowances 
for  others;  and  fierce  and  frequent  had  been  the  bat- 
tles between  Bertie  Fayne  and  me.  To  me  right  and 
wrong  stood  forth  as  clearly  as  black  and  white;  but 
sometimes  it  seemed  as  though  Bertie  could  not  dis- 
tinguish between  the  two. 

For  some  reason  Mr.  Braithe  had  not  asked  his 
nephew  to  revisit  the  Manor  since  our  return;  and 
although  Lilian  had  met  him,  when  on  her  visit  to  her 
great-uncle,  I  could  learn  nothing  from  her.  Had 

21 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

he  changed,  both  in  character  and  appearance,  or  was 
he  still  the  same?  James  Wylde,  Mrs.  Gill's  second 
son,  a  dark-browed,  sullen  young  gypsy,  who  had 
played  with  Bertie  and  me  when  we  were  all  three 
but  children,  had  altered  sadly.  It  was  he  who  had 
met  us  on  our  arrival  at  Hilltown,  after  our  long  ab- 
sence. He  had  grown  into  a  tall,  strong  man,  but  the 
odd  gypsy  look  remained.  I  had  sat  beside  him  on 
the  seven-mile  drive  homeward  to  the  Manor,  and 
his  air  of  sullen  reticence  had  vanished  under  the  real 
friendliness  of  my  feeling  for  him. 

"You're  just  the  same,  Miss  Braithe,  as  you  al- 
ways was,"  he  had  said  finally.  "I  guess  you're  the 
sort  as  don't  change." 

"I  shall  never  be  'Miss  Braithe'  to  you,  Jim,"  I  had 
answered,  smiling,  "never  mind  if  Bertie  were  to 
appear  this  moment  and  fight  you  again." 

To  my  surprise  he  had  colored  deeply  and  pretend- 
ed to  become  absorbed  in  his  horses,  while  my  mind 
reverted  to  the  fight  I  had  recalled  to  his  memory.  It 
had  occurred  on  the  morning  of  my  thirteenth  birth- 
day, in  the  carriage-house  of  the  dusty  Braithe  sta- 
bles, already  used  only  to  store  the  overflow  from  the 
Wyldes'  barns — stables  built,  like  the  house,  after 
those  of  the  English  Braithe;  with  courtyard,  clock- 
tower,  and  bell  to  warn  retainers  of  danger  a-foot. 
The  clock  in  the  tower,  however,  was  always  kept  in 
repair  and  going;  this  being  one  of  the  unwritten  laws 
of  the  House. 

Lilian,  then  eight  years  old,  had  come  running  to 
tell  me  of  the  quarrel  between  the  boys,  her  corn-silk 
hair  floating  over  her  shoulders,  her  cheeks  wearing 
the  color  of  the  wild  rose. 

"Theo,"  she  had  cried,  her  sweet  voice  vibrant,  her 
blue  eyes  sparkling,  "Bertie  and  Jim  are  having  3. 
bloody  fight  in  the  coach-house !  Come  quick,  and  see 
'em  kill  each  other." 

22 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

On  our  way  there,  she  had  pantingly  explained  the 
cause  of  the  quarrel.  Herbert,  in  a  sneering  humor, 
had  told  Jim  that  he  ought  to  call  me  Miss  Braithe,  in- 
stead of  Theo,  pointing  out  the  difference  between  us 
in  birth,  and  reminding  him  that  I  had  entered  my 
teens  and  must  henceforth  be  treated,  by  my  infe- 
riors, as  Miss  Braithe,  of  Braithe. 

Jim  had  promptly  resented  what  he  considered  in- 
termeddling. Usually  Herbert's  willing  slave — dom- 
inated by  the  other's  personal  charm,  superior  intelli- 
gence, and  skill  in  all  field  sports — he  rebelled  only 
when  I  was  in  question;  invariably  siding  with  me 
against  Bertie,  and  protecting  me  from  him  when  my 
cousin  was  in  one  of  his  teasing  moods. 

I  remembered  the  strange  scene  that  had  followed 
my  arrival  at  the  stables,  where,  in  the  centre  of  the 
coach-house,  the  two  combatants  were  struggling  to- 
gether; coats  off,  sleeves  rolled  up,  and  each  belted 
tightly  with  a  moth-eaten  saddle  girth.  Herbert  was 
fifteen,  Jim  a  year  younger,  but  they  were  well 
matched ;  since  what  Jim  lacked  in  science  he  made  up 
for  in  single-heartedness  of  purpose.  Herbert,  only 
half  in  earnest,  wished  to  inflict  punishment,  but  avoid 
injury;  Jim,  his  fierce  temper  thoroughly  aroused, 
cared  nothing  for  the  blows  he  might  receive,  so  long 
as  those  he  gave  went  home. 

Although  one  of  Herbert's  beautiful  eyes  was  al- 
ready half  closed,  he  had  seen  me  enter,  and,  prompt- 
ed by  a  desire  to  torment,  had  called  out  to  me  to  go 
home,  and  leave  the  punishing  of  my  servant  to  him. 
This  indulgence  cost  him  dear.  Jim,  mad  with  fury, 
redoubled  his  efforts;  while  Herbert,  curious  to  see 
how  I  felt  toward  them,  forgot  to  be  on  his  guard; 
Jim's  fist  caught  his  chin  and  down  he  went,  while  the 
victor  sat  down  hard  on  his  chest. 

I  was  wild  with  excitement. 

"Sit  still,  Jim,"  I  cried.  "He  shall  apologize.  He 
23 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

has  fallen  because  he  is  a  tyrant;  you  have  conquered 
because  you  were  fighting  for  liberty.  He  is  Gesler; 
you  are  William  Tell." 

"William  couldn't  have  done  it,  Dolly,"  Herbert 
had  said,  his  good-nature  suddenly  restored,  "if  Ges- 
ler hadn't  shown  him  how."  He  smiled  up  at  Jim  in 
his  sunny,  charming  way,  his  disarming  way.  "Say, 
old  chap,  you're  beastly  heavy,  do  you  know  it?  Just 
get  up,  will  you?  That  last  whack  was  scientific.  I'm 
proud  of  you,  Jim." 

Jim's  scowl  vanished;  he  looked  sheepish,  almost 
ashamed. 

"Don't  move,  Jim,"  I  commanded,  stamping  my 
foot.  "He  owes  you  an  apology;  he  shall  make  one." 

"Mercy,  what  a  termagant!"  said  Herbert,  teasing- 
ly.  "I'm  sorry  I  fought  for  you;  you're  not  worth  it, 
Dolly" — his  name  for  me,  a  contraction  of  Dora. 

Jim's  scowl  returned. 

"You  take  that  back,"  he  said,  threateningly. 
"You  sha'n't  sass  her  while  I'm  'round.  Now  then, 
Bert  Fayne,  say  you're  sorry." 

"I'm  sorry!"  bleated  Herbert,  with  assumed  meek- 
ness. "Tell  your  champion  to  let  me  get  up,  Helen  of 
Troy."  He  smiled  at  me  as  if  the  whole  affair  amused 
him;  as  if  we  were  children;  he  a  man,  diverted  by 
our  folly.  But  I,  who  knew  him  well,  divined  that  he 
would,  later,  in  some  underhand  way,  pay  Jim  out. 
As  for  Lilian,  she  wept  bitterly,  that  the  two  she  de- 
tested had  not  killed  one  another. 

Poor  Jim!  Shortly  after  our  return  from  Europe 
he  had  fought  fiercely  with  his  young  step-father,  Mr. 
Gill,  and  had  left  home,  vowing  never  to  return.  Ru- 
mors of  his  having  become  a  black  sheep  reached  me 
from  time  to  time.  I  was  unhappy  when  I  thought  of 
my  kind  playmate. 

As  I  turned  away  from  the  photograph  of  Herbert, 
I  thought  again  of  the  wrong  Mr.  Braithe  had  done 

24 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

me.  My  opal  was  gone  forever.  I  thought  of  my 
mother,  dead,  with  the  opal  at  her  throat.  The  gem 
had  been,  because  of  this,  and  because  of  that 'long 
line  of  mothers  and  daughters — good  women,  if  his- 
tory spoke  truth — who  had  in  turn  worn  it,  a  sacred 
jewel  to  me.  A  wave  of  sorrow  swept  over  me  as  I 
realized  that  I  was  never  to  see  it  again.  I  pressed  the 
secret  spring  of  the  panel  leading  into  my  private  ora- 
tory, and  there  knelt  down  in  prayer. 


25 


IV 

The  chill  of  the  Cell  struck  into  the  very  marrow 
of  my  bones,  and  my  knees  ached  from  contact  with 
the  cold  stone  floor.  This  bodily  discomfort  was 
wholesome,  freezing  out  my  hot  temper.  What  was 
the  loss  of  a  gem  after  all?  If  Lydia  and  Janey  kept 
tolerably  well,  and  Mr.  Braithe  ceased  to  torment 
them  for  a  few  weeks  at  least,  what  had  I  to  complain 
of?  Ashamed  of  my  selfishness  I  remained  a  half 
hour  longer  in  the  same  position  as  punishment;  then, 
hearing  a  knock  at  the  door  of  my  room,  I  rose  stiffly 
and  returned  there.  My  visitor  was  Lilian. 

"Finished  your  genuflections?"  she  inquired,  com- 
ing in.  "Then  swear  you'll  never  tell." 

She  held  toward  me  a  small  New  Testament,  bound . 
in  red  morocco.  A  greasy,  time-worn  little  volume, 
showing  signs  of  a  too  near  neighborhood  with  Lilian's 
candle.  It  had  belonged  to  her  mother,  and  Lilian 
regarded  it  as  fetich;  seldom  reading  its  pages,  but 
keeping  it  always  on  her  dressing-table,  as  a  safeguard 
against  ghosts. 

Often  I  was  called  upon  to  swear  by  it  never  to  re- 
veal some  petty  secret.  This  had  become  a  confirmed 
habit  on  her  part,  and  one  I  found  I  could  not,  with- 
out great  unkindness,  break.  It  had  commenced 
when  she  was  twelve  and  I  seventeen,  the  formula 
varying  according  to  my  humor  of  the  moment,  al- 
though what  Lilian  preferred  was  this:  ^ 

"I,  Theodora  de  Vere  Braithe,  do  hereby  solemnly 
swear  never  to  reveal  this  secret,  now  confided  to  my 
keeping  by  my  step-sister,  Lilian  de  Vere  Braithe." 

26 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

Having  determined  during  my  recent  stay  in  the 
cell  to  behave  well  toward  all  my  family,  I  refrained 
from  answering  her  petulantly,  and  took  the  oath  as 
best  pleased  her,  though  secretly  wishing  she  would 
go  away. 

"You  have  sworn,  Theo." 

"Yes,  Lilian." 

"You  are  under  oath." 

"Yes,  yes." 

"I  could  not  speak  fully  to  Lydia,  Theo,  for  she  is 
really  no  relation,  but  I  know  in  her  heart  of  hearts 
she  feels  as  I  do;  for  we  both  know  he  will  never  re- 
turn alive." 

"Who?"  I  demanded,  my  curiosity  slightly  aroused 
by  Lilian's  pleased  excitement,  for  her  cheeks  were 
pink,  her  eyes  shining. 

"Who?"  Don't  be  such  an  idiot,  Theo.  Father, 
of  course,  who  else  ?  He  has  the  opal  in  his 
breast  pocket  It  will  be  his  death.  And,  Theo," 
lowering  her  sweet  voice  to  a  mere  whisper,  "I  am 
glad!" 

"Lilian!" 

"There,  you  needn't  look  so  shocked,  Theo.  I  am 
glad,  and  so's  Lydia,  though  it's  really  indecent  and 
inhuman  in  her  to  be.  A  common  farmer's  daughter 
from  Vermont!  That's  all  she  was,  you  know  per- 
fectly well.  And  father  made  her  a  Braithe.  Oh,  I 
forgot  your  preference  for  common  people!  You 
needn't  fire  up — I  know  all  you'll  say  beforehand. 
I'm  glad  I'm  an  aristocrat,  for  my  part;  and  can  un- 
derstand the  feelings — the  finer  feelings — of  the  well 
born.  Noblesse  oblige!  I  only  hope  she'll  hang  on 
for  a  while  after  father,  for  you  know  her  annuity 
dies  with  her,  and  it's  really  all  we  have  to  live  on. 
We^l  make  her  take  us  abroad  when  he's  dead,  and — 
Do  you  know  it's  a  mercy  he  carried  off  the  opal, 
though  we  were  so  mad  at  first,  for  if  anything  can  fin- 

27 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

ish  him,  that  will.  Leave  your  room?  Oh,  come  off! 
You  needn't  pretend  you  care  for  him,  after  the  way 
he's  treated  you;  that's  a  little  too  thin."  She  laughed 
musically  as  she  went  away. 

We  had  beefsteak  for  dinner,  because  it  was  my 
birthday.  A  great  treat  for  the  ladies  of  Braithe. 
Lilian  had  offered  to  take  my  place  as  cook — her 
birthday  gift — but  she  forgot  this  until  reminded  by 
Janey;  when,  provoked  by  my  reception  of  her  un- 
pleasant prophecy,  and  disliking  the  work,  she  burned 
the  outside  of  the  steak,  and  left  the  inside  raw. 
Janey,  disappointed  that  the  feast  should  prove  a  fail- 
ure, reproached  Lilian  bitterly,  and  the  banquet  ended 
in  tears. 

"Do  not  marry  for  love  only,  Theo,"  said  Lydia, 
eying  the  weeping  combatants  with  her  cold  little 
smile.  "I  did;  your  mother  did;  Lilian's  mother  did. 
Behold  the  result !  Three  young  female  paupers,  sod- 
den with  grief  over  the  hideous  catastrophe  of  an  ill- 
looked  ewe  lamb." 

"  'Twasn't  lamb !"  wailed  Lilian.  "A  nasty,  gory 
steak.  But  it's  just  like  you,  you  never  get  things 
straight." 

Lydia's  smile  deepened. 

"Poor  Lilian!"  she  said.  "Poor  lame  dog,  without 
the  only  crutch  that  helps  such  over  the  stiles  of  Pov- 
erty! 

"You  mean  a  sense  of  humor,"  said  Jane,  her  tears 
dried  by  her  warm  pride  in  her  own  quickness  of  per- 
ception. "You  have  it  only  occasionally,  Lilian,  and 
you  know  it."  And  a  second  storm  was  only  averted 
by  Lilian's  desire  to  escape  dish-washing,  which  took 
her  hastily  from  the  room. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Theo?"  Lydia  asked  as,  an 
hour  later,  Janey  climbed  into  her  cart  before  the 
front  steps.  "Ah !  I  can  guess ;  to  the  chapel.  Wind 
a  wreath  of  bright  leaves  for  your  mother,  Theo,  and 

28 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

speak  gayly  as  you  lay  them  on  the  grass  above  her 
heart.  You  may  cheat  her  into  the  belief  that  you  are 
happy." 

"I  am  not  unhappy,  Lydia." 

"No,  not  unhappy  exactly,  I  suppose.  A  sad  resig- 
nation is  not  to  be  called  unhappiness.  How  well  I 
have  taught  you  to  recognize  the  limitations  of  others, 
Theo!  Too  well,  I  fear.  Now,  understanding  mine, 
you  carefully  avoid  telling  me  that  your  mother  is  a 
saint  in  Heaven ;  not  a  poor  handful  of  dust,  in  a  nar- 
row coffin.  Most  people  with  your  faith  would  not  let 
this  occasion  pass,  but  would  hasten  to  proclaim  it. 
Be  thankful  for  your  faith,  Theo.  I  wish  I  might 
think  as  you  do.  I  wish  I  might  feel  that  your  moth- 
er, happy  near  God's  throne,  looks  calmly  down  upon 
the  trials  of  her  only  child,  believing  that  whom  the 
Lord  loveth  He  chasteneth." 

"Poor  little  Lydia!"  I  said,  stooping  to  kiss  her  pale 
cheek.  "Go  take  a  nice  nap;  you  are  overtired.  If 
only  I  had  broiled  that  steak!  A  bit  of  good  be^ef 
would  have  done  you  good.  I  can't  forgive  myself  for 
leaving  it  to  Lilian." 

"Lilian  is  a  true  Braithe,"  said  Lydia,  severely,  "a 
mass  of  selfishness.  If  it  were  not  for  her,  I  should 
not  mind  dying.  Something  tells  me  she  will  do  you 
harm — don't  look  incredulous,  Theo,  my  premoni- 
tions never  fail.  I  dreamed  of  your  mother  last  night. 
She  stepped  down  from  the  gilded  frame  of  her  por- 
trait and  warned  me.  I  swore  to  her  then,  as  I  swear 
to  you  now,  to  guard  you  in  death,  as  in  life,  from  all 
evil.  And  I  so  helpless !  We  feel  strong  in  dreams — 
I  wonder  why?  But  after  death  one  is  really  strong. 
I  don't  believe  in  God,  or  in  Heaven.  If  He  exists, 
why  does  cruelty  exist?  I  do  believe  in  the  power 
to  rise  from  one's  grave  to  help  those  one  loves.  If 
anyone,  if  Lilian,  tries  to  harm  you,  they  shall  have 
me  to  deal  with." 

29 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"O  mother,  do  hush!"  cried  poor  Janey.  "You 
give  me  the  crawling  creeps." 

I  whistled  to  the  Chevalier  and  hurried  away  with 
the  child,  conscience-stricken.  When  Lydia  began  to 
talk  in  this  odd  way  she  held  me,  she  was  so  much  in 
earnest.  A  truly  good  woman,  her  lack  of  faith  but 
a  strange  warp  in  her  mind.  A  pitiful,  saddening 
flaw,  that  was  understood  and  allowed  for,  I  am  sure, 
by  One  who  understands  and  makes  just  allowance  for 
us  all. 

Our  road  lay  southward,  through  the  neglected 
flower  garden — whose  old  sun-dial  was  green  with 
moss — on,  under  the  tall  trees  of  the  broad  belt  of 
woodland  beyond;  till,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
house,  we  came  upon  the  chapel,  amid  its  encircling 
tombs.  It  stood  near  the  edge  of  the  plateau,  that  here 
narrowed  to  a  point;  and  commanded  a  magnificent 
view  of  the  river,  sweeping  southward  to  the  rampart 
of  mountains  that  apparently  barred  its  further 
course. 

The  chapel,  like  the  house,  was  built  of  the  stone  of 
the  locality.  Each  year  it  grew  more  ruinous.  Rain 
leaked  in  through  the  roof;  and  many  of  the  small 
panes  of  stained  glass  in  the  tall  narrow  windows  were 
broken,  or  gone  altogether.  The  bits  of  thick  paper 
I  had  carefully  glued  in  their  places  destroyed  the 
beauty  of  the  pictured  saints;  here  a  face  was  oblit- 
erated, there  a  hand;  while  the  richly-colored  gar- 
ments of  the  Holy  Ones  looked  as  though  they  had 
been  patched. 

Janey  and  I  did  not  go  into  the  chapel,  but  sat 
down  on  Old  Vivian's  tombstone — a  slab  of  granite 
upheld  by  the  family  Leopards — and  enjoyed  the  view 
down  the  river. 

"E.  R.,"  said  Jane,  meditatively,  staring  at  a  mod- 
est brownstone  cross  to  our  left.  "Etienne  Rappellel 
Three  of  'em" — there  were  three  crosses — "I  wonder 

30 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

at  their  taste,  Theo.    Do  you  suppose  the  present  E.  R. 
will  be  buried  here,  too?" 

"I  don't  know,  Jane." 

"To  be  sure,"  the  child  went  on,  "although  he  is  so 
awfully  rich,  he  is  as  common  as  dirt." 

"Janey!"  I  remonstrated,  "don't  say  such  things. 
You  don't  know  Mr.  Rappelle.  If  he  is  at  all  like  his 
ancestors,  he  is  not  a  common  man ;  but  because  of  his 
honesty,  his  loyalty,  and  unselfishness,  a  very  uncom- 
mon one." 

"Why,  Theo,  you  don't  know  him  any  more  than 
the  rest  of  us!  How  queer  to  speak  of  his  ancestors! 
Somehow  I  never  think  of  servants  having  ancestors ; 
or  being  ancestors.  Now  you  say  so,  I  suppose  their 
grubby  old  grandfathers  are  ancestors.  I've  got  no 
business  to  talk  like  this,"  said  the  child,  blushing 
painfully,  "for  I  dare  say  mother's  ancestors  were  as 
plain  as  plain.  Lilian's  forever  hinting  at  it." 

"Nice,  hard-working,  clean-souled  Vermont  farm- 
ers," I  said,  sternly.  "Be  thankful  you  come  of 
such  good  stock,  Jane.  Try  not  to  think  of  peo- 
ple's pedigrees.  Judge  them  by  what  they  are  them- 
selves." 

"Dear  me,  Theo,  what  a  funny  sermon !  You  know 
I  don't  care  a  cent  about  old  family,  only — only — 
well,  I  do  think  some  things  about  us  are  interesting; 
the  Portent,  for  instance." 

"O  Janey!"  I  cried,  "surely  your  mother  and  Lil- 
ian did  not  speak  of  it  to  you?" 

"You  bet  they  did,  Theo,  and  it  most  scared  me 
stiff!  I  hope  I  mayn't  hear  it  ever.  The  first  faint 
sound  of  wheels,  stealing  through  the  old  lodge  gates 
at  midnight — the  sound  grows  louder — down  into  the 
valley,  and  up  again — hark!  the  horses  are  galloping; 
the  wheels  of  the  Coach  reverberate  through  the  quiet 
night !  A  mad  rush  between  the  Cats,  and  up  to  the 
great  door — then,  silence!" 

31 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

"Wheels  don't  reverberate,  Goosie!"  I  said,  hastily. 
"I  wish  you  wouldn't  listen  to  these  foolish  tales." 

The  child  paid  no  heed.  Looking  down  the  river 
with  bright,  excited  eyes  she  thought  only  of  the 
Death  Coach — the  Portent. 

"Three  days  later  a  Braithe  dies.  You  look  from 
your  window — no  carriage  is  there !  You  say  to  your- 
self, which  one  has  it  come  for?  In  three  days — you 
know." 

"Do  not  think  of  it,  do  not  believe  in  it,  Janey,  my 
darling,"  I  entreated.  "It  is  nothing  but  an  idle  su- 
perstition." 

"And  the  Gypsy's  Opal,  Theo?" 

"Is  nothing  but  a  beautiful  jewel,  Jane.  It  has  no 
power  to  bring  good,  or  evil,  fortune.  Come  into  the 
chapel,  little  sister,  and  let  us  pray  for  each  other,  and 
for  all  whom  we  love." 

"For  the  people  we  hate,  too,  Theo?" 

"Let  us  try  not  to  hate  anybody,"  I  said,  quickly, 
painfully  conscious  of  my  own  fierce  dislikes. 

The  little  church  smelled  of  mould,  and  decay,  in 
spite  of  my  efforts  to  keep  it  well  aired  and  dry. 

"It's  grewsome,"  complained  Janey.  "And  I'm 
not  a  religious  child.  You're  so  good,  Theo,  there's 
no  use  in  my  praying  for  you;  if  the  Lord  God  won't 
look  out  for  you  for  your  own  sake,  He  most  certainly 
won't  for  mine.  Mother's  faith  is  gone,  and  she'll 
have  to  repent  to  be  saved,  the  Bible  says;  so 
where's  the  use  of  my  praying  for  her?  As  for 
praying  for  people  whom  I  hope'll  have  an  aw- 
ful time — the  Lord  would  see  through  me  in  a 
minute.  I'm  going  home;  and  I  think  I'm  an  un- 
fortunate child.  If  you  were  like  mother,  I  might 
believe  in  all  the  creepy,  crawly,  Braithe  stories — and 
enjoy  'em  dreadfully;  or  if  mother  were  like  you,  I 
might  be  an  out  and  out  religiousite,  and  love  to  pray. 
Now  I'm  half  one  way  and  half  t'other — a  kind  of 

32 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

mongrel.  Where's  the  Chevalier?  I  wish  I  were  a 
dog.  No,  I  don't,  a  deformed  dog  would  be  horrid. 
Tell  me  something  pleasant,  Theo,  quick!  My  head 
is  full  of  wicked  thoughts,  that  hurt  my  heart." 

I  caught  her  in  my  arms  and  hurried  out  into  the 
sunshine.  If  her  thoughts  hurt  her  heart,  they  cut 
mine  to  the  quick. 

"Choose  your  own  story,  missy,"  I  cried,  gayly, 
seating  her  on  my  lap,  "and  I'll  tell  it  you.  Robber, 
bogie,  fairy,  or  true  story — fearsome  or  funny  ?  Fan- 
cy how  full  my  head  is  of  nonsense!"  and  I  laughed. 

"Your  pretty  ripple  laugh,"  said  the  child,  patting 
my  cheek  fondly.  Then  her  mood  changed,  and  a 
mischievous  spirit  took  possession.  "I'll  hear  the  sto- 
ries of  the  pension  swains,  from  your  own  self.  Tell 
me  of  the  old  English  clergyman  whom  you  thought 
loved  you  as  a  daughter,  till  one  day  he  up  and  popped 
the  question.  Mother  says  he  forgot  his  cloth — such 
an  odd  expression— and  cussed  and  swore  like  a 
trooper  when  you  told  him  what  you'd  thought.  Says 
'twas  a  relief  to  hear  him  go  it,  he  was  such  a  sancti- 
monious old  prig.  Mother  says  men  are  all  alike  that 
way;  saints  have  sinners'  insides,  often,  and  some- 
times sinners'  saints — she  means  have  some  good  in 
'em,  you  know.  And  I  want  to  hear  about  the  hand- 
some German  officer,  who  put  his  wedding  ring  in  his 
pocket  so's  you  wouldn't  know  he  was  married,  and 
then  tried  to  make  you  care  for  him — bragged  he'd 
do  it  in  a  week."  She  paused,  then  added,  with  a 
wicked  little  laugh,  "Mother  says  before  two  weeks 
were  over,  he  was  head  over  ears  in  love  himself; 
says  he  wanted  to  divorce  his  wife,  and  marry  you. 
Forgive  me,  Theo;  I'm  nasty  to-day;  and  your 
birthday,  too !  I  feel  just  as  I  do  in  summer,  when  a 
thunder-storm  is  coming.  Yet  it's  October — and  the 
sky  as  blue  as  blue.  Let's  go  home." 

Something  had  affected  us  all,  the  loss  of  the  opal, 
33 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

I  fancy,  and  neither  Lydia  nor  I  slept  well  that  night. 
Just  before  twelve  she  came  into  my  room,  and  find- 
ing me  awake,  sat  down  on  my  bed  to  talk  herself  into 
a  calmer  frame  of  mind.  Presently  the  old  clock  at 
the  stables  struck  the  hour. 

"Midnight,"  said  Lydia.  "What  a  death-knell 
voice  the  old  clock  has!  Hush!  What  was  that?" 

"Can  it  be  thunder?"  I  said.  "Why  no— it's  the 
sound  of  wheels!" 

Lydia  sank  back,  her  hand  on  her  heart,  her  face 
ghastly.  Alarmed,  I  sprang  from  the  bed,  and  would 
have  run  for  a  cordial,  but  she  stopped  me. 

"Listen!"  she  gasped,  holding  up  a  shaking  hand  to 
insure  silence. 

There  was  no  longer  a  doubt;  someone  was  driving 
along  the  road — once  our  avenue — at  a  furious  rate. 

"Illness  at  the  Gills'  1"  I  exclaimed.  "Oh,  I  am  so 
sorry!"  and  I  listened  intently,  expecting  to  hear  the 
carriage,  now  dashing  across  the  little  bridge,  turn 
toward  the  farm.  But  it  came  straight  on. 

At  that  moment  Lilian  ran  in. 

"Theo,  Theo!"  she  cried,  "what  shall  we  do!" 

She  fell  on  her  knees  before  me,  and  buried  her 
white  face  in  the  folds  of  my  night-dress.  I  tried  to 
free  myself  and  get  to  the  window,  but  she  clung  to 
me  so  desperately  I  could  not  move. 

"Let  me  go,  Lilian,"  I  commanded,  "those  horses 
are  on  the  full  gallop!  There,  they've  passed  the 
Leopards!  Let  me  go  this  instant;  someone  must  be 
in  desperate  need." 

The  carriage  stopped  before  the  house,  with  clatter 
and  rush.  Breaking  away  from  Lilian,  I  ran  to  my 
window,  and  unbolting  the  old-fashioned  shutters, 
flung  them  wide. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  seen. 

It  was  a  glorious  night,  and,  because  of  the  moon 
riding  proudly  in  the  heavens,  seemed  like  day.  Be- 

34 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

fore  the  house  stretched  the  broad  lawn  with  its  giant 
elm  and  tulip  trees ;  beyond,  sat  the  Leopards  on  their 
stone  pillars,  marking  the  commencement  of  the  ave- 
nue of  locusts — further  still,  the  woodland  of  the 
western  hill.  Below  my  window  the  flight  of  steps, 
leading  sharply  down  to  the  sweep  of  road  in  front  of 
the  entrance  door.  I  looked  and  looked  again. 

"We  were  mistaken,"  I  said,  closing  the  window 
and  shivering  slightly,  for  the  night  was  chill.  "It 
must  have  been  but  some  odd  echo;  there  is  no  carriage 
here."  Then  I  hastened  to  Lydia,  who  sat  upon  the 
floor,  Lilian's  head  upon  her  lap. 

"She  has  fainted,  Theo,  bring  water,"  she  whis- 
pered, with  colorless  lips,  and  added,  as  we  bathed 
Lilian's  face  and  throat,  "The  opal  has  done  its  work 
swiftly!  In  three  days  you  will  be  Head  of  the 
House." 


35 


By  one  of  those  strange  coincidences  which  do 
much  to  strengthen  the  belief  in  foolish  superstitions, 
my  father  lost  his  life  three  days  later.  He  was  run 
over  by  a  heavy  dray,  while  trying  to  drag  a  child 
from  beneath  its  wheels,  and  had  died  bravely — the 
crowd  applauding. 

The  news  was  brought  us  by  our  one  friend  in 
Hilltown,  Dr.  Strong.  I  heard  the  wheels  of  his 
buggy  down  the  avenue,  and  went  joyfully  to  meet 
him,  but  his  grave  face  cut  my  gay  greeting  short. 

"What  has  happened?"  I  asked. 

"Theo,  my  dear  child,"  he  said,  kindly,  as  we 
mounted  the  steps  together,  "you  must  be  brave,  and 
help  me " 

He  got  no  further,  for  Lydia  appeared  on  the 
threshold,  her  small  face  pinched  and  white.  As  we 
paused  she  came  forward,  holding  out  a  cold  little 
hand. 

"Mr.  Braithe  is  dead?"  she  said,  with  a  wintry 
smile.  "No,  I  have  had  no  telegram.  Word  that  I 
might  expect  this  was  sent  three  nights  ago." 

Alas !  it  was  in  vain  that  I  tried  to  reason  away  this 
mischievous  belief;  and  because  of  the  odd  effect  of 
an  echo,  the  echo  of  wheels  brought — so  I  have  al- 
ways fancied — by  some  rare  state  of  the  atmosphere, 
my  dear  little  step-mother's  over-excited  nerves  did 
damage  to  her  already  feeble  health. 

All  winters  were  cold  at  Braithe,  we  had  so  few 
fires;  but  that  winter  seemed  especially  cold,  because 

36 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

Lydia  was  in  great  need  of  warmth,  and  our  supply  of 
fuel  scantier  even  than  that  of  the  year  before.  I  had 
given  over  my  authority  as  Head  of  the  Family  to 
Lydia,  at  her  request.  It  was  for  her  to  order  the  fell- 
ing of  trees,  and  to  attend  to  all  the  arrangements,  al- 
though she  was  not  fit  for  it.  Each  day  she  grew  more 
frail,  yet  she  insisted  upon  keeping  everything  in  her 
own  hands — until  the  end.  Mr.  Beecham,  my  fath- 
er's lawyer,  had  gone  over  all  business  attendant  upon 
Mr.  Braithe's  death  with  her;  but  we  were  not  to  hear 
the  will  read  until  she,  too,  had  left  us.  There  was 
something  very  dreadful  in  her  way  of  putting  off 
everything  until  then.  Later  I  learned  the  reason  for 
this. 

One  heavy  envelope,  addressed  to  me  in  Mr. 
Braithe's  graceful  handwriting,  Mr.  Beecham  gave 
me  privately;  explaining  that  my  father  had  request- 
ed him  to  so  deliver  it  in  case  of  his,  Mr.  Braithe's, 
death.  I  opened  it  with  a  heavy  heart.  It  contained 
a  letter  to  me,  and  two  sealed  envelopes.  On  one  of 
these  was  written: 

Concerning  Lilian  de  Vere  Braithe. 

On  the  other: 

Etienne  Rappelle,  Esq. 

The  letter  told  me  that  in  case  Lilian  rebelled  against 
my  authority,  or  in  any  way  misdemeaned  herself,  I 
was  to  break  the  seal  of  the  first  envelope  and  read  to 
her  its  contents.  In  case  Lydia  should  survive  him,  I 
was,  immediately  upon  her  death,  to  forward  the  re- 
maining enclosure  to  Etienne  Rappelle,  Esq.  With 
it  I  was  desired  to  send  a  polite  note,  explaining  that 
I  took  pleasure  in  thus  obeying  the  last  commands  of 
my  dear  father. 

"A  loving,  devoted  wife  rarely  survives  her  hus- 
37 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

band  long,"  wrote  Mr.  Braithe,  "and  my  Lydia,  I  feel 
sure,  if  she  does  not  precede,  will  soon  follow  me. 
Accustomed  to  her  tender  care,  even  Heaven  will 
seem  comfortless  to  me.  Should  I  die  first,  /  will 
come  for  my  dear  ministrant  soon" 

Unfortunately  Lydia  came  into  my  room  as  I  fin- 
ished reading  this  letter.  It  lay  upon  my  lap,  and  she 
picked  it  up  saying  that  she  supposed  she  might  read 
it.  What  Mr.  Braithe  had  written  about  her  had 
made  little  impression  upon  me;  I  was  absorbed  in 
wondering  if  he  had  asked  charity  for  us  at  the  hands 
of  Etienne  Rappelle,  when  a  sudden  exclamation  from 
her  recalled  my  wandering  thoughts.  The  letter  had 
fallen  from  her  fingers,  her  face  was  ghastly. 

"Ah!"  she  whispered,  "it  is  as  I  feared.  Even 
death  cannot  release  me.  He  will  come  for  me  soon ! 
Theo,  I  can't  stand  the  thought.  To  wander  through 
space  with  him  forever  and  ever  and  ever!" 

Bitterly  regretting  my  f  orgetf  ulness  of  her  peculiar 
beliefs  I  went  to  her,  and  putting  my  arms  around  her, 
said  gently: 

"Don't  be  afraid,  Lydia;  it  was  always  his  way  to 
torment  you,  even  in  his  letters.  Try  not  to  think 
about  him  any  more.  He  need  not  come  for  you,"  I 
added,  smiling,  "for  I  shouldn't  let  you  go." 

"Theo!"  she  cried,  catching  my  hands  in  both  hers 
and  pressing  them  hard,  a  faint  pink  stealing  into  her 
pale  cheeks,  "Theo!  do  you  really  mean  it?  Would 
you  stand  by  me?  But  of  course  you  would;  when 
have  you  ever  deserted  a  friend  or  turned  away  from  a 
soul  in  trouble?  Pray  for  me,  Theo,  pray!  I  ask  no 
Heaven — is  there  such  a  place? — but  I  have  lived  in 
Hell,  a  hell  of  my  own  making,  so  the  more  awful. 
Bury  me  well  away  from  the  Braithes,  Theo,  and  re- 
member your  promise  to  put  me  in  no  coffin.  Pray 
that  I  may  rest  quiet  in  my  grave.  If  only  I  might 
hope  to  feel  your  feet,  and  Janey's,  on  the  grass  above 

38 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

my  heart,  pressing  it  down  deep  into  the  bosom  of 
stolid  Mother  Earth — but  no,  that  is  not  for  me." 
She  sank  into  a  chair,  exhausted  by  her  terror. 
"Swear  you  will  pray  for  me  night  and  morning, 
Theo."  ' 

"I  always  do,  dear  Lydia." 

"I  am  hedging,"  she  said,  with  one  of  her  odd 
smiles.  "I  don't  believe  in  what  we  are  taught  as 
children,  God  and  the  Angels  and  that  sort  of  thing, 
but  in  case  it  should  prove  true  after  all,  I  have  you 
on  my  side  to  plead  for  me.  I  am  meaner  than  a  Bib- 
lical Jew — an  Old  Testament  Jew!  Meaner  than  Jo- 
seph, that  tell-tale,  who,  when  he  was  seventeen  years 
old,  ran  to  his  father  with  evil  reports  of  his  brothers; 
and,  later,  threw  the  blame  of  his  own  misbehavior  on 
Potiphar's  poor  wife." 

Greatly  distressed,  I  begged  her  not  to  talk,  to  lie 
down  and  rest ;  but  she  paid  no  heed. 

"If  there  be  a  God,"  she  went  on  more  calmly,  "He 
will  make  allowances — as  you  do.  Yes,  as  you  are 
making  them  for  me  now,  and  for  everybody;  for 
small-souled,  envious  Lilian,  for  my  poor,  pert  Janey, 
for  Mrs.  Gill  and  her  silly  Abel — for  everyone  save 
yourself." 

"Speaking  of  Mrs.  Gill,"  I  said,  anxious  to  change 
the  current  of  her  thoughts,  "reminds  me  that  she  is 
willing  to  go  shares  on  the  wood,  as  she  did  last  win- 
ter. She  told  me  that  if  you  would  decide  on  the 
trees  to  be  felled,  she  would  set  the  men  to  work  at 
once." 

For  a  moment  Lydia  did  not  answer,  and  I  saw  that 
the  subject  I  had  chosen  was  an  unhappy  one.  At 
last  she  said,  very  slowly,  as  though  forcing  herself  to 
speak.  "There  will  be  no  more  cutting  into  the  timber, 
Theo." 

I  stared  at  her  in  bewilderment.  What,  then, 
should  we  do  for  fuel? 

39 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"Mr.  Beecham  and  I  have  talked  matters  over,"  she 
said,  drearily.  "I  am  trying  to  do  my  best  for  you, 
Theo.  We  must  go  in  debt  for  coal,  I  fear." 

I  felt  unwilling  to  ask  questions.  I  had  given  up 
my  right  to  do  so;  yet  one  I  asked  in  spite  of  my- 
self. 

"Shall  you  try  to  rent  or  sell  Braithe,  Lydia?" 

"No." 

The  answer  was  so  short  I  knew  no  explanation 
would  follow,  and  I  would  not  worry  her  by  showing 
my  discomfort  over  her  strange  management.  Lilian, 
who  thought  reticence  on  any  subject  in  the  family  cir- 
cle arrant  nonsense,  did  not  hesitate  to  voice  her  opin- 
ion on  the  way  Braithe  was  run.  She  found  constant 
fault,  telling  what  had  been  done  wrong  and  what 
should,  and  should  not,  be  done.  If  we  had  no  money 
why  not  borrow  of  Etienne  Rappelle?  she  demanded. 
He  really  owed  his  life  to  the  Braithes,  she  said,  for, 
if  the  first  Etienne  had  not  been  rescued  by  Old  Viv- 
ian, he  would  never  have  been  born. 

Lydia  answered  that  if  he  felt  as  she  did  about  life 
— that  terrible  possession — he  must  owe  the  Braithes 
a  hearty  grudge  instead  of  money.  So  they  wrangled 
long  and  bitterly. 

"My  dear  father,"  said  Lilian,  "felt  as  I  do,  I  am 
sure.  When  Rappelle  came  to  his  funeral,  I  made  up 
my  mind  it  was  to  offer  us  everything  we  needed ;  and 
after  all  it  was  only  that  he  might  brag  of  his  connec- 
tion with  our  family.  Vulgar  upstart!" 

"He  had  very  good  manners,"  said  Janey,  judicial- 
ly, "and  he  is  good-looking,  aristocratic-looking — 
aquiline  noses  are  aristocratic,"  rubbing  the  bridge  of 
her  own  delicate  little  nose  reflectively,  "but  you  can't 
go  by  looks.  Anyone  to  see  you  now,  Lilian,  so  piggy- 
careless,  would  think  you  a  scullery  wench." 

"There!"  exclaimed  Lilian,  her  sweet  voice  shrill 
with  anger,  "I  hope  you  see  now,  Lydia,  what  comes 

40 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

of  letting  a  brat  read  Walter  Scott's  musty  old  books. 
Such  vile  language !  No  wonder  she  sees  a  gentleman 
in  that  dark-faced,  thin-lipped  product  of  soap  and 
brown  sugar!  You  can  read  'grocer'  written  all  over 
him.  Stingy,  miserly  mushroom!" 

"You're  mad  'cause  he  didn't  look  at  you— ogling 
him  over  your  Prayer-book!  It  was  at  Theo  he 
looked — his  eyes  are  as  bright  and  dark — and  she  so 
busy  minding  her  prayers  she  never  saw  him!" 

I  got  up  and  went  away  to  my  own  room.  I  was 
tired  of  the  constant  squabbling  which  I  could  not 
stop;  of  Lilian's  grumbles  over  Mr.  Rappelle's  very 
natural  behavior;  of  hearing  her  praises  of  Mr. 
Braithe.  Since  his  death  she  had  canonized  him.  I 
took  from  my  desk  the  envelope  whose  contents  con- 
cerned her  only.  I  should  never  break  its  seal  and 
read  them.  A  record  probably  of  girlish  peccadilloes, 
treasured  up  against  her  by  Mr.  Braithe.  Should  I 
burn  the  letter  or  give  it  to  her  to  burn?  As  I  stood 
idly  turning  it  in  my  hands  Lilian  swept  into  the 
room  without  the  ceremony  of  knocking. 

"I  can't  stand  those  two  another  minute,"  she  cried, 
musically,  "when  I  think  how  they  treated  dear  fath- 
er! That  nasty  common  little  Lydia  is  evidently 
thankful  he  is  dead !  After  all  he  did  for  her,  too !  It 
is  shameful.  Never  once  have  I  heard  her  reproach 
herself  for  being  such  a  drag  upon  him,  as  she  certainly 
was.  Sickly,  low-born  little  thing!" 

"Hush,  Lilian,"  I  said,  sternly.  "You  forget  how 
she  toiled  for  him,  you  forget  that  she  now  supports 
his  children." 

"Pooh!  If  she  weren't  here  Rappelle  would  do 
something  for  us.  I  daresay  he  did  offer  and  she  haa 
had  the  impudence  to  refuse  for  us — what's  that  let- 
ter? Father's  handwriting — even  that  shows  the  aris- 
tocrat— 'Concerning  Lilian  de  Vere  Braithe.'  Why, 
Theo!  how  dare  you  keep  my  letter  from  me?  Give 

41 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

it  to  me  right  away,"  stamping  her  foot  and  trying  to 
snatch  it  from  me.  "I  always  knew  I  was  his  favor- 
ite, the  only  true  Braithe  of  the  family.  Give  it  to 
me!" 

I  tried  to  explain  that  it  was  not  for  her.  Beside 
herself  with  anger,  she  would  not  listen,  and  fought 
for  its  possession  so  violently  that  I  gave  it  up.  She 
broke  the  seal  and  devoured  its  contents,  then  burst 
into  passionate  tears.  "Mean,  hateful,  wicked!"  tear- 
ing the  letter  as  she  spoke.  "Devilish  old  sneak! 
I'm  glad  he's  dead!  I  hope  he's  burning,  yes,  burn- 
ing in  torments,  I  do,  I  do,  I  do !" 

"Lilian!"  I  cried,  aghast,  "how  can  you  talk  so?" 

"You're  just  as  bad,"  turning  fiercely  upon  me; 
"setting  yourself  to  pry  into  my  private  affairs.  Al- 
ways asking  about  my  visit  to  uncle,  and  I  such  an 
idiot  I  never  guessed  why!  Ah!"  stopping  short  and 
staring  fixedly  at  me,  "you  read  it  first,  then  sealed  it 
up  again." 

"Enough!"  I  was  now  as  angry  as  she.  "Leave 
my  room  at  once,  please." 

She  did  so,  but  was  back  again  in  an  instant,  bring- 
ing the  little  New  Testament. 

"Swear  you  didn't,  then,  Theodora  de  Vere 
Braithe.  Swear!" 

At  first  I  would  not,  but  at  last,  my  anger  con- 
quered by  the  look  of  real  misery  in  her  eyes,  I  yield- 
ed, and  she  went  away  satisfied.  But  she  no  longer 
spoke  of  Mr.  Braithe  with  affectionate  regret. 

Her  allusion  to  her  visit  set  me  wondering  for  the 
hundredth  time  over  her  reticence  in  regard  to  it.  I 
had  before  imagined  that  it  was  because  of  her  failure 
to  inherit  the  wealth  she  had  hoped  for,  that  she  so 
seldom  spoke  of  the  months  spent  in  the  home  of  her 
great-uncle;  her  mother's  uncle,  so  no  kin  of  the 
Braithes.  Yet,  strangely  enough,  it  was  our  Braithe 
cousin,  Herbert  Braithe  Fayne,  the  only  child  of  my 

42 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

father's  only  sister  who  had  been,  apparently,  her  sole 
rival  for  the  old  man's  favor. 

"Had  I  wife  and  children  of  my  own,"  the  great- 
uncle  had  said  in  the  presence  of  clergyman  and  law- 
yer, "every  cent  should  go  to  them.  Now,  one  mo- 
ment I'm  all  for  the  girl — the  next,  I  remember  that 
the  boy  is  the  orphaned  grandson  of  my  closest  friend. 
I  suppose  I  must  choose  between  the  two !" 

After  his  death  it  was  found  that  he  had  a  wife  and 
children  tucked  away  in  a  distant  corner  of  the  county, 
so  Lilian  and  Herbert  got  nothing. 

Although  as  a  child  Lilian  had  detested  Herbert, 
and  he  had  never  noticed  her  save  when  inclined  to 
tease,  she  corresponded  with  him  after  this  visit;  yet 
she  seemed  to  like  him  no  better  than  before,  and  save 
for  saying  that  he  was  "as  handsome  and  as  nasty  as 
ever,"  never  would  talk  about  him.  Her  outburst 
over  Mr.  Braithe's  communication  aroused  my  curiosi- 
ty again,  but  I  put  it  away  resolutely.  Lilian's  affairs 
were  her  own. 


43 


VI 

Lydia  was  never  quite  the  same  after  reading  Mr. 
Braithe's  letter,  seeming  to  live  in  constant  dread  of 
his  summons,  and  in  February  she  became  seriously 
ill.  Kind  Dr.  Strong  drove  the  seven  miles  from  Hill- 
town  almost  daily,  in  spite  of  the  bad  condition  of  the 
roads.  His  wife  loaded  the  buggy  with  dainties,  made 
to  tempt  Lydia's  failing  appetite,  but  little  Jane  ate 
most  of  them.  Poor  child,  she  needed  them  almost 
as  much  as  her  mother! 

Fuel  at  this  time  became  very  scanty.  I  had  no 
money  with  which  to  buy  coal,  and  dared  not  order 
any  trees  cut  down.  In  Lydia's  weak  condition  lay  a 
bar  to  all  discussion  of  ways  and  means,  yet  she  must 
have  a  fire  in  her  room.  What  to  do  I  did  not  know, 
and  one  morning  when  an  hour  spent  in  prayer  in  the 
icy  Cell  of  Flagellation  had  brought  no  help,  I  went  to 
the  chapel  in  hope  of  finding  aid  there.  An  answer  was 
sent  to  my  prayers,  for,  my  eyes  chancing  to  fall  upon 
a  very  large  moth-hole  in  the  covering  of  one  of  the 
pew  cushions,  I  saw,  not  for  the  first  time,  that  they 
were  stuffed  with  straw.  In  renovating  the  chapel  at 
the  time  of  his  marriage  to  my  mother,  Mr.  Braithe 
had  thought  any  kind  of  stuffing  would  do — seeing 
stuffing  did  not  show.  Horse-hair  being  expensive, 
straw  was  used. 

Remembering  to  have  read  that  Western  farmers 
twisted  hay  into  tight  ropes  and  burned  it,  I  saw  my 
way  to  making  Lydia  comfortable.  Picking  up  a 
long  cushion,  whose  covering  was  sadly  moth-eaten,  I 
threw  it  across  my  shoulder  and  bore  it  to  the  stables. 

44 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

There  I  stripped  off  the  cover,  and,  at  imminent  risk 
to  my  fingers  and  toes,  for  I  am  not  good  at  man's 
work,  hacked  the  closely-packed  straw  into  burnable 
lengths  and  placed  several  chunks  in  a  basket.  Then 
I  went  to  the  library  for  a  book  with  which  to  start  the 
fire,  for  we  took  no  newspaper,  and  shavings  we  had 
not. 

The  library  was  icy  cold,  making  Lydia's  room,  di- 
rectly over  it,  the  harder  to  warm.  It  occupied  the 
lower  part  of  the  north  wing  of  the  house,  and  having 
one  huge  window  to  the  east,  another  to  the  west,  it 
commanded  a  view  of  both  avenue  and  river.  Over 
the  great  chimney-piece  hung  a  portrait  of  the  builder 
of  Braithe,  Old  Vivian,  taken  as  himself.  There  were 
many  other  portraits  of  him  in  the  house,  in  which  he 
had  sat  for  his  ancestors,  having  been  unable  to  carry 
off  their  pictures  from  the  English  Braithe  Manor. 
The  story  ran  that  he  had  declared  himself  to  be  a 
very  perfect  type  of  the  race,  and  well  fitted  to  person- 
ate the  best  of  them.  Thus  was  Braithe  House  pro- 
vided with  the  needed  family  portraits. 

Hastily  selecting  a  book  I  thought  worthless,  I  took 
a  short  cut  upstairs  by  way  of  what  had  been  my  fath- 
er's private  staircase,  whistling  cheerily  as  I  went  that 
Lydia's  nerves  might  not  be  startled.  The  library  had 
always  been  the  peculiar  property  of  the  masters  of 
Braithe.  Back  of  its  great  chimney,  in  the  northern 
end,  there  was  hidden  a  small  room,  with  a  spiral  stair- 
case in  one  corner  that  led  to  a  dressing-room  above. 
This  dressing-room  opened  into  Lydia's  bedchamber. 
In  winter  my  father  had  slept  in  the  small  room,  as  it 
could  be  made  very  hot  with  its  little  stove,  in  spite  of 
the  northern  exposure.  A  bookcase  swung  to  one  side, 
on  touching  a  secret  spring,  and  gave  entrance  to  it. 
Braithe  was  unpleasantly  full  of  reminders  of  those 
who  had  stood  in  need  of  hiding-places. 

My  straw  burned  bravely;  Lydia  fancied  it  must 
45 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

be  like  peat.  She  looked  very  little  in  the  big,  old- 
fashioned,  four-post  bedstead.  Everything  in  the 
great  room  was  large  and  heavy.  Somehow  the  pon- 
derous furniture,  calculated,  apparently,  to  last  for- 
ever, made  Lydia  seem  the  more  fragile. 

"Strange  girl!"  she  said,  her  odd  smile  flickering 
about  her  lips,  "robbing  the  church  to  keep  me  warm. 
Like  the  rest  of  us  you  are  inconsistent." 

"I  hope  I  mayn't  burn  a  family  of  mice,"  I  said, 
anxiously.  "Do  they  hibernate,  Lydia?" 

"There  it  is  again,"  said  Lydia,  "catching  them  in 
traps,  jumping  up  on  chairs  and  screaming  when  they 
run  across  the  floor,  yet  now  fearing  to  kill  by  fire." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  I  was  in  con- 
stant dread  of  hearing  despairing  squeaks  from  the 
fire.  Lydia  watched  me. 

"Would  you  burn  the  Bible,  Theo,  if  no  other  fuel 
were  to  be  had?" 

"Yes,  Lydia." 

"To  keep  me  or  Janey  warm,  I  know  you  would, 
but  how  about  yourself,  Theo?" 

"Oh,  I  am  strong,  Lydia,"  I  said,  uneasily.  "I  am 
always  warm." 

"Very,"  ironically,  "very  warm,  with  frost-bitten 
fingers  and  toes !  But  you  are  of  no  consequence  ever 
to  yourself.  Strange,  strange  girl!  Truly  religious, 
yet  to  get  warmth  for  me  or  Janey  you  would  coax 
the  Devil  into  giving  you  a  brazier  of  coals  from  Hell. 
And  cheat  him,  later,  out  of  his  just  demand  for  your 
soul." 

"Satan  is  always  cheated,  Lydia." 

"The  worst  of  it  is  no  one  is  worth  the  trouble 
taken  about  them;  I'm  not,  my  poor  Jane  is  not.  It's 
absurd  when  you  really  ponder  on  the  subject,"  she 
went  on,  "the  fuss  man  makes  about  man.  Men  brag 
about  the  great  inventions  made — what  do  they 
amount  to  after  all?  A  cable  laid  across  the  ocean — 

46 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

for  what  purpose,  pray?  To  carry  twaddling  messages 
for  men !  The  great  world  swings  on  through  space — 
who  may  stop  its  course?  Not  that  wretched  pygmy, 
Man.  'I  chain  the  lightning,'  he  cries;  and  the  next 
moment  lies  withered  and  dead  by  its  power." 

The  door  was  gently  opened  and  Janey  entered. 
She  held  one  hand  behind  her  as  she  advanced  slowly 
into  the  room;  she  had  on  coat  and  hat  and  had  evi- 
dently just  come  in  the  house. 

"Guess  what  I  have  for  you,  Theo." 

I  laughed.    "A  snow-ball,  Pet?" 

"A  present  from  an  admirer,  Theo,"  she  said,  smil- 
ing. "But  his  heart  it  is  another's — by  rights,  that 
is.  What  queer  things  men's  hearts  are,  flying  about 
like  mad!" 

"What  do  you  know  about  hearts,  Goosie?"  I  de- 
manded. "Come  and  guess  in  your  turn  what  our  fire 
is  made  of." 

Janey's  curiosity  was  aroused  and  she  ran  to  me. 
As  she  did  so  Lydia  cried  out  in  horror: 

"Janey!  Peacock's  feathers!  Where  did  you  get 
them,  why  did  you  bring  them  here?  Throw  them 
into  the  fire  this  moment;  burn  them,  quick!" 

"Why,  mummy!"  exclaimed  the  child,  half  fright- 
ened, half  displeased,  "they're  so  pretty,  why  must  I 
burn  them?  Mr.  Gill  gave  them  to  me.  He  told  me 
to  show  them  to  my  sister,  Theo" ;  her  eyes  began  to 
sparkle,  "he  really  meant  them  for  you,  Theo;  you 
take  them,"  and  she  thrust  the  bunch  of  graceful 
plumes  into  my  hand. 

"They  bring  bad  luck,"  cried  Lydia,  sitting  up  in 
bed.  "I  won't  have  them  in  the  house ;  wrap  them  in 
paper  and  put  them  in  the  fire." 

Janey  climbed  up  on  the  high  bed.  "Let  me  keep 
them,"  she  pleaded,  and  she  kissed  her  mother.  Un- 
fortunately her  veil  fell  over  her  face  as  she  did  so. 

"Kissing  me  through  your  veil!"  wailed  Lydia, 
47 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"Oh,  what  more  is  in  store  for  us?  First  those  omens 
of  ill  luck" — the  poor  feathers  were  now  in  the  fire — 
"and  then  you  must  forget  how  often  I  have  told  you 
not  to  kiss  me  when  your  veil  is  down.  O  Janey, 
Janey,  what  have  you  done  ?" 

"It's  all  gone  now,  Lydia,  the  bad  luck,  I  mean," 
I  said,  hastily;  "the  feathers  are  in  ashes.  Jane  didn't 
mean  to  disobey  you." 

"What's  all  this  about  disobeying?"  asked  Lilian, 
strolling  in.  "Lydia  busily  engaged  in  ruling  the 
rost,  as  usual?  Doesn't  it  ever  strike  you  that  you're 
fearfully  stuck  on  yourself,  Mrs.  Braithe?  What?"  as 
an  explanation  followed,  "peacock's  feathers?  Great 
heavens!  How  long  will  it  be,  I  wonder,  before  Theo 
and  Jane  realize  that  you  know  what  you're  about 
and  that  they  don't?" 

These  superstitious  fancies  wore  upon  Lydia,  and 
often,  through  her,  upon  my  healthy  nerves ;  I  grew  so 
fearful  of  doing  something  that  she  might  consider 
unlucky. 

One  night  during  the  last  week  of  that  month — 
February — we  were  all  waked  at  midnight  by  the 
howling  of  a  dog  under  Lydia's  window.  She  was 
very  much  terrified,  thinking  the  sound  betokened 
the  approach  of  death — so  feared  now  because  of  her 
husband's  threat.  The  moon  had  just  risen  and, 
though  obscured  every  few  moments  by  light  clouds, 
for  a  storm  was  brewing,  gave  sufficient  light  for  me 
to  see  that  the  black  object  squatting  on  the  snow  far 
below  was  the  Gills'  half -grown  puppy,  Jumbo.  This 
I  told  Lydia,  thinking  to  calm  her  excited  fancy,  but 
she  said  he  had  been  "sent." 

"Dear  Lydia,  the  poor  dog  is  probably  cold  and  hun- 
gry," I  said,  "and  is  howling  to  tell  us  so.  He  has 
strayed  from  home." 

I  dressed  and  went  downstairs  to  let  him  in.  To 
my  surprise  he  did  not  want  to  come.  He  let  me  pat 

48 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

him,  but  took  up  his  mournful  plaint  again  the  mo- 
ment I  stopped,  so  I  gathered  him  up  around  the 
middle  and  toiled  with  him  up  the  steps  into  the  house. 
His  long  hind  legs,  limp  and  floppy,  dragged  after 
him,  for  though  but  a  pup  he  was  big;  he  yelped  in 
protest  and  licked  my  face,  alternately,  all  the  way. 
The  Chevalier,  shut  into  Lilian's  room  to  prevent  a 
quarrel,  barked  angrily,  but  in  spite  of  the  turmoil  all 
might  have  gone  well  had  not  Lilian's  desire  to  see 
what  was  going  on  induced  her  to  open  her  door  on  a 
crack,  when  out  the  Chevalier  squeezed  and  was  upon 
Jumbo  in  an  instant.  I  had  just  set  the  pup  down  at 
the  head  of  the  staircase  and  Charles  Stuart's  sudden 
rush  sent  them  rolling  down  it  together.  Then  I 
heard  the  front  door — yet  I  was  sure  I  had  shut  it — 
jar  to  heavily,  and  again  Jumbo  began  his  lugubrious 
song. 

If  I  had  had  time  to  take  him  into  Lydia's  room 
and  to  warm  and  feed  him  there,  I  think  both  she  and 
the  puppy  might  have  spent  a  comfortable  night.  As 
it  was  both  were  wretched.  Jumbo  would  not  let  me 
catch  nor  drive  him  from  the  house,  but  stayed  and 
howled  till  dawn.  By  morning  poor  Lydia  was  alarm- 
ingly ill. 

There  followed  a  three-days'  storm,  breaking  up 
the  ice  in  the  river  and  piling  it  in  mighty  heaps  along 
shore.  Dr.  Strong  came  to  us  on  the  second  day,  his 
bushy  eyebrows  and  whiskers  covered  with  ice  from 
his  long  drive  in  the  teeth  of  the  wind.  He  looked 
very  grave  over  Lydia  and  did  what  little  he  could  for 
her,  saying  he  would  get  to  us  the  next  day,  if  possible. 
She  was  so  much  brighter  then,  however,  that  I  was 
glad  when  he  failed  to  come,  knowing  how  busy  he  was 
elsewhere  and  how  weary. 

That  night,  in  spite  of  the  wild  noises  of  the  storm, 
I  slept  soundly  on  my  lounge  at  the  foot  of  Lydia's 
bed,  my  anxiety  being,  for  the  time,  over.  But  at 

49 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

twelve  she  roused  me  and  I  went  to  her.  She  was  sit- 
ting up  in  bed,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  panel  which 
gave  entrance  to  my  father's  dressing-room;  a  look 
of  great  dread  was  in  them,  and  her  small,  pinched 
face  was  gray. 

"Listen!"  she  whispered,  holding  up  a  wasted  hand. 
"Don't  you  hear  him  in  the  library?"  From  the  room 
below  came  an  odd,  muffled  sound,  as  of  footsteps  that 
echoed  dully.  "O  Theo,"  turning  to  me  suddenly, 
"hold  me !  Don't  let  me  go !" 

I  got  up  beside  her,  wrapped  her  warm  and  held  her 
close  in  my  arms. 

"Only  the  noises  of  the  storm,  dear  Lydia,"  I  said, 
soothingly.  "Lean  against  me  and  try  to  be  calm." 

Far  to  the  northward,  away  up  the  river,  we  heard 
the  roar  and  cry  of  the  approaching  blast. 

"Pray  for  me,"  cried  Lydia,  clinging  to  me  in  fran- 
tic terror.  "I  hear  him  on  the  spiral  stairway — Theo, 
Theo,  pray!" 

A  passionate  pity  for  this  suffering,  born  of  super- 
stition, filled  my  heart.  I  began  to  chant  the  Creed; 
to  fight  the  unreal  with  the  real: 

"/  believe  in  God,  the  Father  Almighty,  maker  of 
heaven  and  earth;  and  in  Jesus  Christ,  his  only  Son, 
our  Lord." 

An  ecstasy,  such  as  is  at  rare  intervals  vouchsafed 
to  us  poor  mortals,  swept  over  me,  possessed  me.  The 
storm  rushed  down  upon  us,  shaking  the  house,  rat- 
tling doors  and  windows,  making  the  old  trees  creak 
with  its  violence.  I  scarcely  heeded,  for  to  me  it 
seemed  as  if  the  heavens  had  parted,  flooding  all  with 
an  effulgent  radiance — the  radiance  of  the  great 
White  Throne. 

"/  believe  in  God,  the  Father  Almighty"  I  chanted, 
exultingly,  "and  in  Jesus  Christ,  his  only  Son,  our 
Lord." 

Then,  very  slowly,  I  came  back  to  earth.  I  saw  the 
50 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

feeble  glimmer  of  night-lamp  and  fire  reflected  in  the 
shining  surface  of  the  ponderous  mahogany  furniture ; 
and  I  saw,  with  a  start  of  apprehension,  that  the  panel 
leading  into  the  dressing-room  had  jarred  aside.  Then 
I  felt  the  utter  abandonment  of  the  fragile  little  creat- 
ure in  my  arms. 

"Lydia!"  I  whispered.  "Dear  Lydia,  you  feel  bet- 
ter now  ?" 

Her  head  lay  upon  my  breast,  her  arms  across 
my  shoulders. 

"He  opened  the  panel,"  she  faltered,  shuddering; 
"he  looked  in;  but  he  dared  not  enter — because  of 
your  great  faith.  And  I?"  her  voice  grew  steadier, 
stronger,  "Lord,  I  believe — help  Thou  mine  unbe- 
lief!" 

I  laid  her  back  among  her  pillows.  I  thought  she 
slept.  But  in  the  morning  she  did  not  waken. 


51 


VII 

Although  I  had  known  for  many  months  that 
Lydia's  time  on  earth  was  short,  her  death  was  a 
great  shock  to  me.  I  missed  my  kind  little  step- 
mother sadly.  Poor  Janey  was  almost  heart-broken, 
and  even  Lilian,  I  think,  felt  her  loss  more  than  she 
said. 

Mindful  of  my  promise,  I  had  carried  out  Lydia's 
wishes  in  regard  to  her  last  resting-place.  I  put  her 
in  no  coffin,  but,  instead,  made  her  a  couch  of  the  fir 
and  the  hemlock;  lining  the  damp  grave  with  their 
lightest  branches,  selecting  the  slenderest,  the  most 
yielding.  Upon  this  rude  bed  I  laid  her  tenderly, 
with  reverent  care,  and  covered  her  close  with  the  silk- 
en folds  of  the  Flag.  Lydia  believed  that  to  sleep 
beneath  our  glorious  symbol  of  the  highest  ideals  that 
man  has  ever  striven  to  live  up  to  must  bring  a  grand 
repose. 

"I  shall  rest  better — if  allowed  to  rest — with  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  around  me,"  she  had  said.  "But 
should  I  rise  to  protect  you  from  evil,  Theo,  as  rise  I 
shall,  I  swear,  should  you  need  me,  I  will  come  in  my 
shroud.  Then,  returning,  knoAving  that  in  death  I 
have  achieved  what  in  life  was  denied  me — for  I  have 
done  nothing  for  you,  Theo — I  may  again  fold  the 
Flag  close  to  my  heart,  and  so  sleep." 

Ten  days  after  I  had  said  good-by  to  her  Mr.  Beech- 
am  came  to  Braithe.  It  was  in  the  morning,  and  we 
were  in  the  dining-room,  where  glowed  a  comforting 
fire,  owing  to  the  kindness  of  Dr.  Strong,  who  had 
sent  us  a  load  of  coal.  Lilian  had  curled  herself  up  in 
a  ragged  easy-chair  drawn  close  to  the  chimney  side, 

52 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

and  was  absorbed  in  an  old  novel.  Her  shabby  slip- 
pers toasted  on  the  hearth.  One  foot  she  sat  on;  the 
other,  dangling  free,  looked  piebald  because  of  the 
many  holes  in  her  black  stocking. 

I  busied  myself  cutting  out  a  frock  for  little  Jane 
from  an  old  gown  of  her  mother's.  As  I  snipped  and 
twisted  serge  and  pattern,  my  mind  sought  anxiously 
for  an  answer  to  the  problem  given  it.  How  might 
Lilian  and  I  find  work?  We  must  not  continue  to  live 
upon  charity,  I  thought,  glancing  at  the  fire  in  the 
high,  old-fashioned  grate,  yet  what  could  we  do?  Un- 
til we  could  sell  Braithe  Manor  we  must  earn  our  own 
living,  and  I  feared  a  purchaser  for  so  large  and  iso- 
lated an  estate  might  be  hard  to  find. 

We  were  not  well  educated.  Poor  Lydia  had  had 
too  much  to  do  after  the  birth  of  little  Jane,  and  the 
child's  subsequent  misfortune,  to  spend  much  time  in 
teaching  her  step-daughters;  and  Mr.  Braithe  had 
vowed  he  would  waste  no  more  money  in  hiring  gov- 
ernesses for  a  brace  of  useless  girls.  Save  for  the  little 
I  had  learned  by  reading  everything  that  came  in  my 
way,  and  a  slight  knowledge  of  languages  picked  up 
in  Europe,  I  knew  absolutely  nothing;  Lilian,  poor 
thing,  still  less. 

My  mind,  instead  of  concentrating  itself  upon  the 
little  frock  taking  outline  upon  the  table,  insisted 
upon  attending  not  only  to  the  work  in  hand,  but  to 
our  future  as  well.  As  I  worked  I  saw,  in  imagina- 
tion, all  the  lions  that  might  confront  us  on  our 
way. 

I  looked  at  the  child,  perched  on  the  other  end  of 
the  table,  busily  committing  a  chapter  of  the  Bible  to 
memory.  She  had  announced  her  intention  of  learn- 
ing it  all  by  heart  that  she  might  understand  religion; 
but  had  begun  in  the  middle  of  the  book  to  avoid  dis- 
couragement. Little  Jane,  who  must  be  left  in  charge 
of  strangers  while  I  went  out  into  the  world  to  seek 

53 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

fortune  for  her!  There  came  an  ache  in  my  heart,  I 
could  not  see  the  little  frock.  My  Janey,  my  little 
sister,  how  could  I  part  from  her;  how  find  for  her  the 
care  she  needed? 

"I'm  not  naturally  religious,  Theo,"  she  said,  sud- 
denly, breaking  in  upon  my  musings.  "I'm  afraid 
I'll  always  be  a  kind  of  make-believe."  She  sighed, 
then  cried,  excitedly,  "Look,  Theo,  look  quick!  Here 
comes  someone  up  the  avenue!  Lilian,  Lilian,  wake 
up!  Put  on  your  slippers,  do;  a  carriage  is  coming." 

When  Mr.  Beecham  entered,  Lilian  and  Janey  ran 
away,  that  I  might  be  left  to  deal  with  business  mat- 
ters alone.  Of  this  I  did  not  approve,  for  I  thought  he 
came  to  read  Mr.  Braithe's  will,  so,  after  the  usual  cer- 
emonies of  greeting  were  over,  I  spoke  to  him  of  this. 
He  had  taken  up  his  position  on  the  hearth-rug,  his 
back  to  the  fire,  and  stood  looking  meditatively  at  me. 
He  was  a  gray  man;  complexion,  eyes,  lips,  hair — all 
were  gray.  He  had  a  pompous  manner. 

"It  was  kind  of  you  to  come,  with  the  roads  in  so 
bad  a  condition,  Mr.  Beecham,"  I  began,  seeing  he 
seemed  disinclined  for  speech.  "We  are  to  hear  my 
father's  will,  I  suppose." 

"Of  course,  Miss  Braithe,"  he  said  in  his  slow  way, 
"if  that  is  your  wish;  otherwise  it  is,  in  this  case,  un- 
necessary." 

"But  why?"  I  asked. 

Poor  Mr.  Beecham!  No  wonder  that  he  had  hesi- 
tated about  beginning  so  trying  an  interview.  He 
was  a  kind  man,  and  his  news  was  hard  to  tell;  for  we 
were  completely  destitute.  Mr.  Braithe  had  had  noth- 
ing to  leave.  Braithe  Manor  had  passed  from  his 
hands  years  before,  and  now  belonged  to  Etienne  Rap- 
pelle.  It  was  Etienne  Rappelle's  roof  that  had  shel- 
tered us  since  our  return  from  Europe — Etienne  Rap- 
pelle's trees  that  I  had  wished  to  have  cut  down  and 
burned;  Lydia  had  prevented  me,  and  I  was  grateful. 

54 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

She  had  known  of  this  since  Mr.  Braithe's  death,  and 
had  spared  me  the  knowledge.  Tender-hearted  little 
Lydia ! 

I  felt  as  though  the  solid  earth  were  giving  way  be- 
neath my  feet.  Where  were  we  to  stay  while  looking 
for  work?  How  get  enough  money  to  live  on  till  then? 
I  was  frightened.  Would  Mr.  Beecham  help  me?  I 
asked  him. 

"It  is  exceedingly  difficult,  Miss  Braithe,"  he  said, 
gravely,  in  his  slow,  pompous  way,  "for  young  gentle- 
women to  obtain  the  means  of  support.  There  are, 
unfortunately,  so  many  striving  for  situations  as  gov- 
ernesses, companions,  housekeepers,  and  the  like.  I 
have  one  young  friend  who  has  been  desirous  of  ob- 
taining employment  for  the  past  seven  months;  but, 
owing  to  an  imperfection  in  her  education,  she  is  de- 
barred from  the  position  of  teacher;  and  people  prefer 
employing  persons  of  the  middle  class  as  housekeep- 
ers. May  I  ask  what  you  think  of  applying  for?" 

My  heart  had  sunk  lower  and  lower  during  his  little 
speech.  What  was  I  fitted  for,  indeed?  I  told  him 
what  I  knew,  and  what  I  was  capable  of  doing. 

"I  fear,"  he  said,  "that  people  would  rather  en- 
gage natives  of  France  and  Germany  to  teach  their 
children  those  languages.  I  doubt  if  you  may  hope  to 
succeed  as  a  teacher,  Miss  Braithe ;  and  as  to  obtaining 

a  position  as  housekeeper  or  companion "  He 

paused  again. 

"I  think  I  might  do  well  enough  as  one  of  these,"  I 
said,  pleadingly.  But  once  more  he  shook  his 
head. 

"Forgive  my  saying  so,  my  dear  young  lady,  but 
you  are  too  young." 

"I  am  twenty-three,"  I  interrupted  quickly,  "and  in 
reality  much  older.  I  am  not  a  young  woman  in  expe- 
rience, Mr.  Beecham." 

"Allow  me,"  he  said,  waving  my  words  aside  with 
55 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

his  hand,  "too  young,  and  far  too  handsome,"  bowing 
gravely,  "to  obtain  either  situation  easily,  if — if  at 
all." 

I  sat  still,  tongue-tied  by  despair.  Mr.  Beecham 
stood  and  viewed  my  misery  without  seeming  to  have 
any  suggestion  to  offer. 

"How  is  your  little  sister,  Miss  Jane?"  he  asked, 
after  the  silence  had  lasted  for  some  time. 

"She  is  always  about  the  same,  thank  you,"  I  said, 
wearily. 

"Has  she  had  the  best  medical  advice  ?" 

I  thought  his  question  a  trifle  unkind,  under  the 
circumstances;  but  reminded  myself  that  he  probably 
felt  embarrassed,  his  position  being  an  unpleasant  one, 
and  answered  the  tactless  query  gently. 

"No,  so  far,  not." 

"You  sent  a  letter  to  Mr.  Etienne  Rappelle  directly 
upon  the  demise  of  Mrs.  Braithe,  did  you  not?" 

I  answered  in  the  affirmative.  Lydia  had  worried 
over  this  letter,  left  by  my  father  for  Mr.  Rappelle, 
until  I  had  given  my  promise  to  send  it.  I  had  disliked 
doing  so  extremely.  What  might  the  letter  con- 
tain ?  Something  disagreeable,  judging  from  the  oth- 
ers. The  color  surged  hotly  into  my  cheeks,  in  expec- 
tation of  what  I  might  have  to  hear.  Had  Mr.  Braithe 
expressed  his  long-concealed  hatred  in  that  letter? 
Had  he — but  no — he  could  not  have  asked  charity  for 
us;  our  future  had  never  been  his  care. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Beecham  was  fumbling  in  his  pock- 
et, and  presently  drew  from  it  a  parcel,  which  he 
placed  in  my  hands. 

"Before  delivering  a — a  message,  with  which  I  am 
intrusted,"  he  said,  pompously,  but  withal  very  kindly, 
"may  I  beg  you  to  receive  this?" 

Seeing  that  I  was  expected  to  open  it,  I  did  so,  and 
found  the  beautiful  mother-of-pearl  case  that  had  al- 
ways been  the  resting-place  of  my  opal.  With  trem- 

56 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

bling  fingers  I  pressed  the  spring.  Inside  lay  not  only 
my  lost  gem,  but  its  diamond  chain  as  well. 

"Beautiful!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Beecham,  stooping 
down,  glasses  on  nose  to  see  better,  "a  beautiful  jewel. 
And,  as  I  understand,  with  a  most  interesting  history. 
Handed  down,.  I  believe,  from  mother  to  eldest 
daughter  for  many  generations.  Permit  me  to  con- 
gratulate you  upon  its  recovery — for  it  is  yours 
again." 

Then,  gathering  himself  together,  he  told  me,  in 
as  few  words  as  possible,  that  in  any  case  the  opal  was 
mine,  since  the  sender,  Etienne  Rappelle,  would  de- 
cline to  take  it  back;  but  that  he,  Mr.  Rappelle,  hoped 
that  I  might  consent  to  become  his  wife. 

I  sat  quite  still,  feeling  as  though  I  were  in  a  bad 
dream;  while  Mr.  Beecham,  sighing  deeply  as  if 
thankful  that  the  most  difficult  part  of  his  mission  was 
over,  went  on  more  cheerfully  with  his  task. 

"If  you  will  agree  to  this  arrangement,  my  dear 
Miss  Braithe,"  he  said,  "things  will  naturally  right 
themselves,  as  is  highly  desirable,  and  Braithe  Manor 
will  still  be  in  the  family." 

"But  I  don't  know  Mr.  Rappelle,"  I  cried.  "I  have 
never  even  seen  him!"  Then,  as  is  my  wont,  because 
of  Lydia's  training,  rapidly  viewing  his  side  of  the 
question,  I  added,  "I  am  sure  he  is  only  doing  this 
from  a  sense  of  duty.  I  thank  him,  Mr.  Beecham,  I 
am  grateful,  please  tell  him  so,  but  what  he  proposes 
is  out  of  the  question.  As  for  the  opal  I  accept  it 
with  heart-felt  thanks.  It  was  like  a  true  Rappelle  to 
send  it — but  it  must  be  sold.  Perhaps  you  will  attend 
to  this  for  me,  Mr.  Beecham,  and  we  can  live  upon 
what  it  brings  for  a  time." 

"Not  very  long,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head.  "And 
allow  me  to  say  that  Mr.  Rappelle  has  seen  you,  Miss 
Braithe,  if  you  did  not  see  him.  It  was  at  your  fath- 
er's funeral.  He  is  a  fine  man,  a  strictly  honorable 

57 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

man.    I  should  advise  you  to  reconsider  your  answer, 
Miss  Braithe." 

It  was  my  turn  to  shake  my  head,  but  Mr.  Beecham, 
all  his  pomposity  of  speech  suddenly  gone,  began  his 
task,  self-imposed,  of  persuading  me  to  do  what  he 
thought  my  duty.  He  spoke  well,  that  I  could  not 
deny,  reminding  me  of  my  obligation,  as  Head  of  the 
Family,  toward  my  sisters.  It  was  for  me,  he  urged, 
to  protect  and  provide  for  them,  so  far  as  I  was  able. 
Of  Janey,  and  her  need  of  constant,  watchful  care — 
care  only  to  be  given  by  one  who  loved  her — and  the 
necessity  of  good  medical  advice,  he  spoke  long  and 
earnestly;  of  Janey,  who,  all  unconscious,  was  at  that 
moment  pleading  her  own  cause.  For  her  childish 
treble,  piping  high,  reached  us  in  the  dining-room,  as 
she  went  singing  through  the  hall;  changing  the  words 
of  an  old  verse  to  suit  her  fancy  as  she  sang. 

"  Oh,  poverty  is  disconsolate ; 
Its  wants  are  many,  many,  many — . 
Its  woes  are  strong — foes  are  strong — 
Woes  and  foes,  both  are  strong. " 

The  big  tears  welled  up  into  my  eyes  and  rolled 
slowly  down  my  cheeks. 

"There,  there,"  said  Mr.  Beecham,  suddenly  break- 
ing off  in  his  harangue,  "don't  take  it  so  hard,  my  dear. 
Ah!  what  a  remarkable  gem  that  is;  a  moment  ago  it 
was  so  very  brilliant,  and  now  it  is  almost  white.  No, 
I  am  mistaken,  the  color  sweeps  across  its  surface.  And 
I  am  glad  to  see  that  the  red  of  the  rose,"  bowing  in 
his  old-fashioned  way,  "is  once  more  rivalled  in  your 
cheeks.  Does  that  mean  you  will  decide  sensibly,  Miss 
Braithe?  Rappelle  is  in  every  way  a  suitable  match, 
very  suitable;  not  yet  forty — and  a  strictly  honorable 
man.  I  think  you  may  safely  trust  yourself  to  him." 

"Oh,  I  have  faith  in  Mr.  Rappelle,  as  far  as  that 
goes,"  I  said,  trying  to  smile — I  was  sorry  for  Mr. 

58 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

Beecham.  "If  he  really  wishes  it — you  may  say  to 

him "  I  broke  down  and  began  to  cry  outright 

Janey's  song  had  decided  me;  I  would  take  up  the 
cross  ready  for  my  shoulders.  I  believed  a  loveless 
marriage  to  be  a  crime;  but  I  must  try  to  forget  my 
own  soul,  my  own  distaste,  my  own  happiness.  Janey 
came  first  now,  as  always. 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Mr.  Beecham,  hurrying  into  his 
coat  as  though  anxious  to  be  off  before  I  had  time  to 
change  my  mind,  "to-day  is  Saturday.  Rappelle  sails 
on  Wednesday — business  in  London — no,  my  dear, 
you  are  not  to  accompany  him.  Tuesday  he  must  be 
in  town,  business  appointments.  He  suggests  Mon- 
day noon.  Now,  my  dear  Miss  Braithe,  just  one  mo- 
ment before  you  speak,  how  else  can  he  be  in  the 
proper  position  to  provide  for  you?  A  most  sensible 
arrangement.  Yes,  yes,  gives  you  time  to  become 
accustomed  to — to — in  short,"  desperately,  "to  every- 
thing. I'll  see  Dr.  Strong  and  tell  him  the  happy 
news.  I  believe  from  my  heart,"  he  spoke  solemnly, 
holding  out  his  hand  in  farewell,  "that  you  will  never 
have  cause  to  regret  your  decision." 

I  strove  to  smile  through  my  tears. 

"Whatever  happens,  Mr.  Beecham,"  I  faltered,  "I 
shall  always  be  sure  that  you  tried  to  advise  me  for 
the  best.  I  thank  you  for  being  so  kind." 

"Good-by,  my  dear,"  he  said,  hurriedly,  "and — and 
God  bless  you!"  He  wrung  my  hand  hard  and  hur- 
ried away. 

I  stood  still  where  he  had  left  me.  Surely  the 
lightning  had  struck.  The  great  opal,  shimmering  in 
its  coil  of  dull  gold,  looked  up  at  me  like  a  big  eye. 
Why,  I  wondered,  even  at  the  moment  of  accepting  it 
and  when  boldly  declaring  that  I  should  sell  it,  had  I 
known  in  my  inmost  heart  that  this  must  not  be? 
Was  it  because  of  the  large  sum  probably  already  paid 
for  the  gem  by  Etienne  Rappelle?  It  was  his  jewel 

59 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

by  rights  now.  What  had  become  of  that  money? 
Gambled  away,  no  doubt,  in  a  single  night — wasted 
in  dissipation.  How  could  Mr.  Rappelle  wish  to 
marry  a  Braithe?  But  did  he  really  wish  it?  Could 
it  be  possible  that  the  old  oath  had  been  forced 
upon  him  by  his  father?  If  so,  why  had  he  not 
simply  offered  to  help  us  instead  of  proposing  mar- 
riage? My  head  ached,  my  heart  was  sick  within 
me;  God  help  me  to  do  my  duty — it  was  so  hard, 
so  very  hard  ! 

Hearing  my  sisters  coming  I  closed  the  case  of  the 
opal,  and  put  it  on  the  high  chimney-piece,  beneath 
the  portrait  of  Lady  Sophia  Braithe — an  earl's  daugh- 
ter— the  wife  of  Vivian,  my  great-great-great-grand- 
father, builder  of  the  American  Braithe.  The  Lady 
Sophia  was  a  blonde  beauty.  Lilian  resembled  her 
closely,  save  that  Lady  Sophia's  chin  bespoke  a  more 
determined  will.  Perhaps  at  thirty  Lilian  might  look 
more  like  her  ancestress;  I  hoped  most  earnestly  she 
might  never  be  like  her  in  any  other  way,  for  the  Lady 
Sophia  had  not  been  a  good  woman. 

To  Lilian  those  who  looked  down  upon  us  from 
their  carved  or  gilded  frames  were  merely  shadows; 
unnoticed  unless,  the  light  burning  dim  at  late  hours 
of  the  night,  a  fear  of  them  as  ghosts  sent  her  scurrying 
past  each  portrait,  with  pale  cheeks  and  averted  eyes, 
when  on  her  way  to  bed.  To  me  these  dead  and  gone 
men  and  women  were  very  real.  Having  no  supersti- 
tious fancies  I  did  not  fear  their  wraiths,  but  the 
stories  of  their  evil  doings  saddened  me.  I  sometimes 
found  myself  looking  wearily  into  the  blue  eyes  of  the 
Lady  Sophia,  and,  as  her  descendant,  judging  her. 
How  had  she  dared  to  be  so  wicked?  I  thought  the 
reason  I  cared  so  little  for  Braithe  House  was  because 
of  those  who  had  lived  beneath  its  roof;  and  who — so 
it  seemed  to  me — had  but  just  passed  over  its  threshold 
to  the  neighborhood  of  the  chapel  beyond  the  garden. 

60 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

Braithe  had  been  built  by  one  of  them,  and  its  atmos- 
phere still  seemed  tainted  by  their  presence. 

"Well,"  demanded  Lilian,  coming  in,  "have  we 
anything?  Is  there  a  cent  left?" 

"Theo!"  cried  Janey,  pushing  her  aside,  "you  have 
been  crying."  And  running  to  me  she  threw  her  arms 
— how  thin  they  were ! — around  my  neck. 

"It  is  nothing,  pet,"  I  said,  soothingly;  then,  in  an- 
swer to  Lilian,  "We  shall  not  want,  Lilian,  for,"  the 
words  were  hard  to  manage,  "for — I  am  to  marry 
Etienne  Rappelle." 

"What?"  cried  Lilian,  in  a  musical  scream.  "It's 
not  possible!" 

I  bowed  my  head  in  reply;  I  could  not  speak.  A 
wild-rose  flush  stained  Lilian's  pale  cheeks,  and  kick- 
ing off  her  slippers  she  began  to  dance  lightly  and 
gracefully  about  the  room,  clapping  her  hands  in  time 
to  the  wild  gyrations. 

"  Hurrah,  hurrah,  I'll  yell  a  jubilee! " 
she  sang,  and  never  had  her  voice  sounded  sweeter, 

"  Hurrah,  hurrah,  for  the  chap  what  sets  us  free! 
Join  me  in  the  chorus,  for  grocers  we  will  be, 
Grocers — from  this  tune  forward! " 

"Stop,  Lilian!"  commanded  Janey,  stamping  her 
foot.  "Wicked,  wicked  girl!  O  Theo,  my  Theo," 
clasping  me  closer,  and  kissing  my  cheeks  again  and 
again,  "your  poor  heart  is  hurt !  Why  must  you  marry 
him?  If  one  of  us  has  to,  why  won't  Lilian  do?  She 
wants  to  marry;  she's  always  said  she  would  marry  a 
rich  man;  let  her  do  it.  You  and  I  were  to  live  alone 
together,  Theo,  just  us  two.  Let  Lilian  marry  him." 

Lilian  had  paused  to  listen. 

"You  hear  what  Janey  suggests,  Lilian?"  I  said, 
looking  at  her  wistfully.  "I  think  she  is  right  about 

61 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

Mr.  Rappelle" — I  did  not  believe  the  love-at-first 
sight  theory  advanced  by  Mr.  Beecham — "I  think 
that  he  wishes,  merely,  to  marry  one  of  the  Braithes, 
in  order  to  help  the  family.  If  you  don't  mind,  won't 
you  take  him?" 

The  color  faded  from  Lilian's  cheeks. 

"How  mean  of  you!"  she  cried.  "How  nasty,  and 
mean,  and  hateful!  You  know  I  can't " 

"You  mean  you  won't,"  Jane  interrupted,  indig- 
nantly. 

I  hastened  to  avert  a  storm. 

"Of  course  if  you  would  rather  not,  Lilian,"  I  said. 
Then,  taking  the  opal  from  the  chimney-piece,  "see, 
this  has  come  home." 

"The  Gypsy's  Opal!"  said  Lilian,  in  an  awed  whis- 
per. "The  diamond  chain!  O  Theo!" 

"Pretty,  pretty  gem!"  said  little  Jane,  touching  it 
caressingly  with  one  small  finger.  "See  how  its  color 
comes  and  goes !  It  flushes  and  pales  with  you,  Theo. 
Does  little  mummy  know  of  it,  do  you  think?  It 
would  please  her  so." 

"The  Opal — and  the  Rappelle  millions!"  said  Lilian. 
She  had  an  odd,  frightened  look.  "Even  you,  Theo, 
must  confess  that  your  luck  and  the  opal  are  one." 

I  said  nothing.  Luck,  indeed !  But  there  are  two 
kinds. 

Lilian  smiled,  recovering  without  apparent  effort 
her  wild  spirits  of  the  moment  before.  The  pretty 
color  returned  to  her  pale  cheeks  as  she  said  good-na- 
turedly, nodding  at  Jane: 

"You  see  I  can't  marry  him  because  he  don't  want 
me,  little  Goose ;  and  won't  for  the  same  reason — he's 
in  love  with  Theo." 

Again  she  began  to  sing,  and  little  Jane,  fascinated, 
though  disapproving,  watched  her  as  she  drifted  light- 
ly about  the  room,  swaying  with  the  rhythm  of  the 
music. 

62 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"  My  aunt  La  Mode,  from  the  city, 
Came  out  for  the  country  air ; 
She  thought  my  cheeks  were  painted, 
And  asked  who  made  my  hair  ? 
And  when  she  learned  it  grew  there, 
She  called  for  ink  and  pen. 
She  made  her  will  and  bought  me 
For  one  of  the  Upper  Ten." 

She  ceased  singing,  stood  still  an  instant,  then 
nodded  her  graceful  head  at  wide-eyed  Janey,  and 
saying,  "Now  for  the  true  version,"  recommenced  her 
song: 

"  Grocer  Rappelle,  from  the  city, 
Came  out  for  a  funeral  affair; 
He  thought  Miss  Braithe's  cheeks  painted, 
Quoth  he,  '  Who  made  that  hair  ?  ' 
But  when  he  learned  both  grew  there, 
He  hied  to  his  grocery,  then 
Planked  down  his  check,  and  bought  her, 
To  the  tune  of  millions  ten." 


"Lilian!"  cried  Janey.  Swept  by  a  storm  of  indig- 
nation, and  with  cheeks  aflame,  eyes  flashing,  her 
small  hand  uplifted  to  strike  the  offender,  she  would 
have  flown  at  Lilian  had  I  not  caught  and  held  her. 

"There,  Jane,  come  to;  I  didn't  mean  anything," 
said  Lilian. 

The  child  and  I  both  stared  in  amazement.  Never 
had  we  seen  Lilian  in  a  mood  of  apology  before. 

"Of  course  he  fell  in  love  with  her  at  the  funeral. 
I'll  put  it  elegantly,  if  you  prefer,"  she  went  on,  taking 
up  her  position  on  the  hearth-rug,  her  back  to  the  fire. 
She  looked  more  like  the  Lady  Sophia  than  ever  be- 
fore, I  thought,  as  I  glanced  from  one  to  the  other. 
"He  looked,  naturally  enough,  at  our  family  group; 
and,  Jane  Braithe,  you  and  I  'weren't  in  it  for  a  minit.' 
For  he  saw  a  graceful  girl,  five  feet  five  in  height — 
but  looking  taller  because  of  regal  shoulders,  and  the 
proud  carriage  of  her  well-shaped  head."  Jane's  sigh 

63 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

of  satisfaction  echoed  through  the  lofty  room;  again 
she  was  absorbed.  "A  velvet  girl.  Her  slumbrous 
waves  of  dusky  hair — black  velvet.  Her  large,  soft 
eyes — eyes  passionate  or  mirthful,  pathetic  or  simply 
pellucid  lakes,  as  the  mood  of  their  owner  changes — 
gray  velvet,  daytimes;  black  velvet  for  evening  wear." 

"That's  so!"  from  Jane. 

"A  skin  like  white  velvet,"  continued  Lilian  in  sol- 
emn declamation,  "save  where,  in  the  perfectly  round- 
ed oval  of  that  high-bred  face,  the  rich  color  comes 
and  goes.  Now  a  stain  of  deepest  carmine,  and  now  a 
wondrous  pink.  'Those  eyebrows  were  surely  pen- 
cilled with  a  brush  of  velvet!'  sighs  the  Billionaire. 
Miss  Braithe  smiles — slowly.  (Mr.  Gill  has  just 
picked  up  her  handkerchief;  held  in  her  hand  for 
looks'  sake.  No  tears  on  account  of  dear  pa's  demise 
dampen  its  snowy  folds.)" 

"Lilian!"  cries  Janey,  really  shocked. 

"Shall  I  stop?"  Lilian  asks. 

"N-o" — Poor  Jane  is  a  little  ashamed  of  her  inter- 
est. And  I,  I  am  but  too  thankful  to  have  the  child's 
mind  kept  from  serious  thoughts,  to  yield  to  my  own 
desire  to  stop  what  is  very  cruel  nonsense  to  me. 

"Where  was  I,  Jane?"  from  Lilian. 

"Gill  has  just  picked  up  her  handkerchief,  and 
she's  smiling."  It  is  evidently  but  a  fairy  tale  to  the 
child. 

"Oh,  yes.  Theo  smiles — a  slow,  strange  smile;  a 
somewhat  languorous  smile.  Tantalizing  dimples  ap- 
pear suddenly  in  those  velvet  cheeks;  the  carmine  is 
beautiful,  so  rich.  Is  there,  or  is  there  not,  the  Gro- 
cer asks  himself,  a  dimple  also  in  that  wonderfully  al- 
luring chin?  He  stares  at  her  with  might  and  main; 
he  can't  make  out;  probably  because  of  a  grain  of 
starch,  or  rice,  in  his  right-hand  optic.  Says  he  to  him- 
self, 'I'll  have  that  girl  if  I  bust  the  bank  to  get  her! 

I'll  dress  her  in  velvet  and  then' In  his  lordly  im- 

64 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

agination  he  puts  a  hand  under  that  velvet  chin,  and 
lifts  it;  he  must  see  if  there  be  a  dimple  there  or  not. 
(And  what  matter  if  the  hand  is  a  trifle  gritty  with 

brown  sugar,  and  slightly  scented  with  cheese " 

I  could  bear  no  more. 

"Lilian,  O  Lilian!"  I  exclaimed,  in  a  sudden  agony. 

Janey,  turning,  fixed  her  great  blue  eyes  upon  my 
pallid  face.  Then,  in  a  very  passion  of  pity,  flung  her 
arms  around  my  neck,  and  crying  out,  "O  Jephthah's 
daughter!  Oh,  the  early  Christian  martyrs!"  burst 
into  wild  tears  of  self-reproach. 

I  felt  that  I  must  put  an  end  to  this  strange  scene 
at  once — that  there  must  be  no  more  disrespect  shown 
by  Lilian  toward  the  Rappelle,  who,  like  his  grand- 
fathers, was  sacrificing  himself  for  a  Braithe.  I  un- 
clasped the  child's  arms  from  about  my  neck;  and, 
still  holding  one  of  her  little  hands  in  mine,  laid  my 
right  hand,  for  support,  upon  the  Bible,  lying  open 
upon  the  table  before  me.  I  was  scarcely  conscious 
that  its  pages  were  beneath  my  fingers,  so  shaken  was 
I  by  what  I  had  undertaken.  I  found  it,  somehow, 
very  hard  to  hold  myself  erect,  as  I  stood  facing  Lilian 
— and  the  Lady  Sophia  Braithe. 

"I  have  promised  to  marry  Etienne  Rappelle,"  I 
said  very  slowly,  striving  hard  to  keep  my  voice  steady 
and  to  force  back  the  tears  that  blurred  the  faces  of 
Lilian  and  the  Lady  Sophia.  "And  I  shall  try  to  prove 
to  him  that  a  Braithe  can  be  loyal  to  a  Rappelle.  I 
shall  swear  before  God  to  love  and  to  obey  him,  till 
death  us  do  part."  I  was  silent  for  a  long  moment, 
then,  looking  no  longer  at  Lilian,  but  straight  into  the 
cold  blue  eyes  of  my  great-great-great-grandmother,  I 
said,  still  more  slowly,  "I  now  swear  that  I  shall  strive 
to  keep  my  vow,  no  matter  what  Etienne  Rappelle 
chooses  to  do  or  not  to  do.  The  wheel  of  change  has 
swung  around.  The  Braithes  have  ruled  their  supe- 
riors long  enough;  it  is  time  the  Rappelles  assumed,  as 

65 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

such,  their  rightful  place.  I  shall,  doubtless,  be  very 
happy  as  the  wife  of  so  honorable,  so  well-born  a  man 
as  Etienne  Rappelle." 

I  had  expected  an  outburst  of  disapproval  from  Lil- 
ian, just  as  I  had  hoped  for,  and  rejoiced  to  hear,  a 
deep  sigh  of  relief  from  Janey.  The  child  believed 
my  last  statement,  as  I  had  intended  she  should.  Lil- 
ian, however,  running  quickly  to  me,  pressed  my  hand 
down  firmly  upon  the  page  of  Scripture  on  which  it 
rested,  then  lifting  it,  she  read  aloud  the  verses  that 
had  lain  beneath  my  finger  tips: 

"Many  daughters  have  done  virtuously,  but  thou  ex- 
cellest  them  all. 

"Favor  is  deceitful,  and  beauty  is  vain;  but  a 
woman  that  feareth  the  Lord,  she  shall  be  praised." 

"And  I  had  hoped  for  a  favorable  omen!"  sighed 
Lilian.  "Nothing  but  rubbish  after  all." 

But  little  Jane,  searching  carefully  with  one  small 
finger,  found  the  verses,  and  bending  low  her  golden 
head  kissed  them  reverently. 

I  went  quickly  from  the  room. 


66 


VIII 

"Marry  on  Monday,  marry  for  wealth!"  quoted  Lil- 
ian, surveying  me  with  cold  disapproval.  "Well,  your 
gown  is  proof  positive  that  it  is  necessary.  Such  an 
old  dud!  I  hate  thin  India  silks  at  their  best,  and 
yours  has  been  washed  so  many  times  it's  simply  hid- 
eous— such  an  ugly  yellow  white.  It's  a  mercy  Mrs. 
Gill  fell  upon  your  sleeves,  or  they'd  be  indecently 
flat.  Wasn't  she  too  common?  I  can  hear  her  twangy 
voice  now  as  she  said,  'Not  sew  on  Sunday,  Miss  Theo? 
Is  that  the  reason  you  won't  make  'em  buff  ant?  I 
want  to  know!  I  go  to  church  pretty  regularly,  I 
guess,  but  when  my  ox  falls  down  inter  a  pit,  why,  I 
jest  stay  home  an'  haul  him  out;  so  now  I'll  run  and 
get  a  pattren.'  Well,  she  did  fairly — considering," 
walking  around  me.  "You'll  have  to  do,  I  suppose; 
but  I  must  say  you're  the  shabbiest  bride  I  ever  saw !" 

The  mirror  vouched  for  Lilian's  truthfulness.  The 
sleeves — poor  Mrs.  Gill's  handiwork — were  short,  just 
big  puffs,  and  had  been  made  from  bits  of  the  old  long 
ones;  every  piece  showed.  The  corsage  of  the  gown 
was  cut  square ;  and  close  about  my  throat  was  clasped 
the  diamond  chain,  with  its  pendant.  But  the  opal 
looked  dull ;  as  dull  as  my  white  face  and  tired  eyes. 

I  had  slept  little  since  Mr.  Beecham's  visit.  I  had 
passed  the  two  nights — such  long  yet  such  short  nights 
— in  tears.  I  had  dree'd  my  weird  hard.  My  sole 
consolation  lay  in  the  knowledge  that  I  came,  on  my 
father's  side,  of  a  short-lived  race.  The  Braithes  mar- 
ried and  died  young.  Mr.  Braithe  was  wont  to  boast 

67 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

of  the  number  of  greats  put  before  the  name  of  old 
Vivian — so-calledj  although  he  had  passed  away  when 
he  was  thirty-five — who  yet  had  not  built  Braithe 
House  until  late  in  seventeen  hundred. 

During  these  wakeful  nights  I  had  concluded  finally 
and,  as  I  thought,  forever,  that  I  was  being  married 
because  of  the  power  of  the  old  oath;  that  Etienne 
Rappelle  had  felt  it  impossible  to  help  us  in  any  other 
way,  and,  having  sworn  to  "stand  by  the  family,"  was 
about  to  sacrifice  his  personal  freedom  for  the  sake  of 
this  foolish  vow.  And  I  must  help  him  to  consum- 
mate this  sacrifice! 

As  I  stood  staring  at  my  pale  reflection  in  the  mir- 
ror, a  carriage  drove  slowly  up  to  the  house.  A  wave 
of  color  swept  across  the  face  in  the  glass,  and  the 
great  opal  showed  a  crimson  stain  in  its  heart. 

"Dr.  and  Mrs.  Strong,"  announced  Lilian,  running 
to  look  from  the  window.  "They  are  bringing  in  box 
after  box!  O  Theo!  a  basket  of  champagne,"  and  she 
rushed  downstairs.  A  moment  later  she  reappeared, 
followed  by  the  doctor's  wife,  a  plump,  cheerful  little 
woman.  Both  were  laden  down  with  boxes. 

"How  d'you  do,  dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  Strong,  drop- 
ping her  burden  on  the  bed  and  kissing  me  kindly. 
"  'Happy  is  the  bride  the  sun  shines  on,'  and  the  sun- 
shine's coming,  never  fear.  I  said  to  doctor  as  we 
came  along  that  the  day  would  be  fine,  after  all, 
though  it  did  look  dubious  this  morning.  Mr.  Beech- 
am  will  be  here  directly;  he  waited  to  meet  Mr.  Rap- 
pelle.  Mrs.  Beecham  and  the  girls  can't  come ;  so  sor- 
ry; she's  got  a  cold  and  they  engagements.  Mr. 
Beecham  will  give  you  away,  Theo.  No,  the  doctor' d 
rather  not.  Some  nonsense  about  leading  a  lamb  to 
the  slaughter;  he's  got  old-fashioned  ideas,  you  know. 
Yes,  of  course  you  must  wear  a  veil ;  I  wish  'twas  lace, 
but  tulle  must  do — and  these  gloves,  Theo,"  opening 
another  parcel,  "I  got  several  pairs;  I  didn't  know 

68 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

your  number  or  Lilian's.  As  for  flowers,  I  suppose 
Mr.  Rappelle  will  bring  plenty,  but  gentlemen  are 
forgetful  about  trifles,  so  in  case  he  shouldn't,  you  can 
wear  these." 

I  felt  grateful  and  tried  to  say  so;  but  speaking, 
without  tears,  was  difiicult,  and  I  resigned  myself  into 
her  hands,  hoping  she  might  understand.  A  second, 
and  third  carriage  rolled  up  the  avenue,  the  last  at  a 
great  pace. 

"Mr.  Rappelle  and  two  strange  men,"  said  Lilian. 

"Oh,  my  Theo,  my  Theo,"  cried  Janey,  a  silent 
spectator  hitherto,  "how  lovely  you  look,  and  how  sad ! 
Your  eyes  are  too  big,  Theo;  you've  got  great  black 
circles  under  them,  most  down  to  your  chin." 

She  ran  to  throw  her  arms  around  me,  but  Mrs. 
Strong  deftly  stopped  her,  stepping  in  between  us. 

"Tie  this  in  your  doggie's  collar,  dear,"  she  said, 
giving  the  child  a  long  piece  of  white  satin  ribbon. 
"He  must  have  a  bridal  favor,  too." 

"He  won't  want  it,"  Janey  protested.  "Charles 
Stuart  may  be  selfish  and  greedy  at  times,  but  he  loves 
Theo  better  than  anyone  else  in  the  world,  and  he 
won't  want  her  to  be  married.  He  wouldn't  wear  it 
if  he  knew  what  it  meant — no,  not  for  a  hundred  thou- 
sand greasy  bones." 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  a  very  gentle 
knock.  Mrs.  Strong  cried,  "Come  in."  I,  feeling 
very  odd  and  faint,  could  not  speak.  A  small  man 
stood  on  the  threshold,  bowing  low.  He  had  many 
boxes  in  his  hands,  and  entering  timidly,  gave  them  to 
Mrs.  Strong;  then,  looking  at  me,  said  gently,  with  a 
deprecatory  smile: 

"Mr.  Eappelle's  compliments  to  Miss  Braithe.  Miss 
Braithe  will  find  Mr.  Rappelle  at  the  foot  of  the  stair- 
case when  Miss  Braithe  is  ready." 

To  please  kind  Mrs.  Strong,  who  was  doing  all  that 
anyone  could  to  help  me,  I  tried  to  open  the  various 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

boxes;  but  my  cold  fingers  trembled  and,  in  pity,  she 
relieved  me  of  the  task.  With  sudden  ohs!  and  ahs! 
of  satisfaction,  she  drew  from  one  a  bridal  bouquet  of 
the  choicest  orchids,  with  clusters  of  orange-blossoms 
and  stephanotis,  tied  loosely  with  white  satin  ribbons 
with  long  streamers. 

"Beautiful!"  she  exclaimed,  "and  the  latest  fash- 
ion." 

There  were  more  flowers  in  another  box;  but  these 
were  roses,  velvety  red  roses.  Mrs.  Strong  openly 
wondered  at  this  choice.  But  the  diamonds — Mr. 
Rappelle's  wedding  gift — drove  the  memory  of  the 
roses  from  her  mind. 

"Three  diamond  stars,  Theo!  What  big  ones! 
And,  dear  child,  look  at  this  bracelet!  Such  splendid 
diamonds!  The  stars  will  look  lovely  in  your  hair. 
Doctor's  always  quoting  that  thing  of — Byron's, 
isn't  it? — about  you:  'She  walks  in  beauty,  like  the 
night.'  What  he'll  say  when  he  sees  you  crowned 
with  stars  I  don't  know." 

I  sat  silent,  having  no  words  of  praise  for  Mr.  Rap- 
pelle's  gifts.  I  felt  unlike  myself;  so  strangely  apa- 
thetic. My  mind  was  no  longer  filled  with  imaginings 
of  what  my  life  was  to  be,  no  longer  searching  for 
ways  of  escape,  no  longer  fashioning  stronger,  more 
passionate  prayers  for  sudden  death — since  were  I 
gone  Mr.  Rappelle  would  care  for  Janey;  of  this  I  felt 
sure.  No,  I  awaited,  dully,  the  moment  that  was  to 
place  me  among  those  of  my  fellow-creatures  whom  I 
most  despised:  the  men  and  women  who  had  sold  their 
souls  for  gain. 

"It  is  time  to  go  down  now,  dear  Theo,"  said  Mrs. 
Strong,  very  gently. 

I  rose,  took  the  bouquet — its  fresh  satin  streamers 
fluttering  close  against  the  worn  silk  of  my  wedding 
gown — waited  a  moment  while  poor  Mrs.  Strong 
fussed  anxiously  about  me,  trying  to  make  me  fitter 

70 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

for  the  part  I  was  to  play,  and,  very  slowly,  went  out 
upon  the  gallery  that  circled  the  hall. 

A  huge  fire  of  logs,  brought  from  the  Gills',  blazed 
below  in  the  great  chimney.  Its  flames  lighted  up  the 
darkest  corners,  the  old  verse  carved  above  the  fire- 
place, and  the  figure  of  a  man  standing  at  the  foot  of 
the  staircase.  Then  everything  swung  out  of  place  be- 
fore me,  blurred  together.  But  although  I  had  not  suf- 
ficient courage  to  look  at  the  man  who  was  about  to 
become  my  husband,  I  was  able  to  descend  the  stairs 
steadily,  clinging  closely  to  the  rail. 

Mr.  Rappelle  did  not  speak  as  I  joined  him,  but 
taking  my  hand  placed  it  upon  his  arm,  and  so  led  me 
across  the  hall  to  the  drawing-room,  where  the  few 
friends  who  had  come  to  see  me  married  were  assem- 
bled. 

The  shutters  of  the  six  tall  windows  opening  upon 
the  pillared  portico  were  flung  wide;  and  through 
them  I  saw  the  river,  tossing  southward,  dark,  blue, 
and  splendid,  its  waves  excited  by  their  tussle  with  the 
sharp  March  wind.  As  I  crossed  the  room  I  counted 
childishly,  to  see  if  the  clergyman  were  standing  just 
in  the  middle;  yes,  three  windows  to  the  right,  three 
to  the  left  of  him.  It  was  through  the  one  to  his  left 
that  I  stared  while  dully  reciting  the  vows  that  bound 
me  to  Etienne  Rappelle.  I  saw,  without  seeing,  the 
dark  river,  the  mountains  of  its  eastern  shores,  the 
deeply  blue  sky  and  the  torn  masses  of  white  clouds 
driven  across  it — saw  without  seeing,  yet  now  I  can 
recall  at  will  that  wild  March  landscape. 

Then  I  felt  the  touch  of  a  stranger's  lips  upon  my 
cheek — and  knew  that  I  had  become  Theodora  Rap- 
pelle. 

It  was  a  dreary  little  wedding.  Mrs.  Strong  and 
Mrs.  Gill  had  very  red  eyes  after  the  ceremony;  while 
Dr.  Strong's  rugged  face  was  careworn.  My  little 
Janey,  wide-eyed  and  frightened-looking,  clung  tightly 

71 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

to  Dr.  Strong's  kind  hand,  as  though  in  him  she  found 
the  strength  she  lacked.  Lilian  and  Mr.  Beecham, 
however,  seemed  in  excellent  spirits;  and  I  heard  the 
old  lawyer  paying  my  sister  pompous  compliments  011 
her  lovely  color  and  the  brightness  of  her  eyes. 

The  wedding  breakfast  was  an  odd  affair,  since  Mrs. 
Strong,  Mrs.  Gill,  and  Lilian  had  each  had  a  hand  in 
its  arrangement.  I  had  insisted  that  Mrs.  Gill  and  her 
family  should  be  properly  invited,  in  spite  of  Lilian's 
indignant  objections.  The  Gills  had  not  only  accepted 
gladly,  but  had  thrown  themselves  with  enthusiasm 
into  the  preparations  for  the  wedding.  Mr.  Gill  him- 
self brought  a  wagon-load  of  wood,  and  then,  taking  off 
his  coat,  went  from  room  to  room  making  fires.  With 
the  help  of  his  stepson,  poor  Abel  Wylde,  he  had 
dressed  the  house,  in  clumsy  fashion,  with  greens; 
while  his  wife  had  busied  herself  in  making  an  end- 
less variety  of  pies  and  cakes.  These  last  loaded  the 
table,  rubbing  elbows  with  the  delicate  confections 
sent  by  Mrs.  Strong  from  Hilltown;  and  ruining  Lil- 
ian's efforts  at  decoration. 

As  if  in  a  dream  I  heard  Mrs.  Gill  indulging  in 
loud-voiced  repartee  with  Mr.  Rappelle's  lawyer,  in- 
terspersing her  sallies  of  wit  with  accounts  of  my 
likes  and  dislikes  and  high  moral  worth;  my  prefer- 
ence for  apple-pie  over  pumpkin,  childish  weakness  for 
hot  ginger-bread  and  dogs,  kindness  to  the  poor  and 
sick  of  a  neighboring  brickyard,  and  my  deeply  relig- 
ious turn  of  mind. 

"He's  a  lucky  man,  he  is,"  she  wound  up,  winking 
behind  her  spectacles  in  the  direction  of  the  bride- 
groom. "He's  got  a  treasure  in  Miss  Theo!"  Then, 
becoming  suddenly  grave,  she  added  solemnly,  "An' 
I  do  hope  the  next  time  I  see  her  a  bride  'twill  be  done 
more  proper — in  a  sating  dress  and  bridesmaids  three 
in  a  breast  walking  before  her  to  the  hymeneall  alter." 

Poor  Mrs.  Gill  was  unaccustomed  to  champagne, 
72 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

and,  drinking  it  as  cider,  was  undone.  Her  tongue 
grew  more  ungovernable  each  moment,  her  voice  more 
strident.  Even  during  Mr.  Beecham's  little  speech 
of  congratulation  she  could  not  be  silent,  but,  in  imi- 
tation of  what  she  had  read  in  newspaper  accounts  of 
speeches,  cried  out  at  brief  intervals,  "Applause!" 
"Laughter!"  and  wept  and  laughed  by  turns. 

After  Mr.  Rappelle  had  responded  to  Mr.  Beecham, 
he  asked  me  to  come  with  him  to  the  library  for  a  few 
last  words,  and  with  an  air  of  deep  devotion  led  me 
from  the  room.  His  manner  startled  me  from  the 
state  of  apathy  into  which  I  had  fallen,  for  I  knew  it 
to  be  assumed.  Instantly  my  mind  awoke  to  question 
what  this  meant.  I  was  frightened.  What  was  com- 
ing? 

In  spite  of  the  fire  glowing  on  the  hearth — two  leop- 
ards sat  erect  as  andirons,  holding  the  logs  in  check — 
the  large  room  was  very  cold;  and  as  Mr.  Rappelle 
placed  me  in  Old  Vivian's  special  armchair,  first  push- 
ing it  close  beside  the  blaze,  I  shivered  involuntarily. 
He  went  back  into  the  hall,  and  returning  with  an 
overcoat  motioned  me  to  rise  and  put  it  on.  I  shrank 
back  as  was  but  natural,  I  think,  before  this  familiar- 
ity expected  of  me;  but  when  Mr.  Rappelle,  as  if  mis- 
understanding my  hesitation,  said  calmly,  "The  coat 
is  mine,"  I  forced  myself  to  yield. 

He  treated  me  as  though  I  were  an  uninteresting 
child  for  whom  he  was  obliged  to  care ;  and  wrapping 
the  greatcoat  well  about  me  made  me  reseat  myself 
beside  the  fire,  and  placed  my  feet  upon  a  footstool. 
The  air  of  tenderness  had  vanished ;  he  was  evidently 
about  to  get  a  disagreeable  duty  over  as  quickly  as 
possible.  For  the  first  time  I  looked  well  at  the  man 
in  whose  hands  lay  my  future  weal  or  woe. 

He  had  not  seated  himself,  but  leaned  against  the 
corner  of  the  great  chimney,  opposite  me,  and  stared 
down — somewhat  gloomily — into  the  red  heart  of  the 

73 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

fire.  He  was  of  medium  height,  well  set  up,  broad- 
shouldered;  his  hair  and  eyes  dark  brown,  the  latter 
long  and  very  brilliant;  the  nose  aquiline,  lips  thin; 
a  firm  chin  with  a  slight  cleft  in  it.  His  face  was 
smooth-shaven,  the  skin  a  clear  olive — a  very  French 
face.  Such  was  Etienne  Rappelle.  As  I  looked  up 
at  him  he  suddenly  transferred  his  gaze  from  the  fire 
to  me,  and  in  his  keen  eyes  I  read — contemptuous 
pity! 

I  had  fancied  I  had  already  felt  the  deepest  misery 
possible,  but  I  had  not;  since  contempt  from  a  Rap- 
pelle was  something  a  Braithe  could  not  be  expected 
even  to  imagine.  In  that  short  moment,  while  I  en- 
dured his  scorn,  I  lived  through  a  year  of  pain;  for 
by  it  I  learned  my  own  shortcomings,  and  saw  myself 
as  I  really  was.  Until  then  I  had  not  known  that  I 
was  either  vain  or  proud.  His  look  taught  me  that  I 
had  been — had  been,  since  his  contempt  gave  both 
their  death  blow — vain  of  my  beauty  and  proud  of  my 
birth.  I  had  fancied  that  because  of  these  poor  pos- 
sessions Etienne  Rappelle  would  at  least  have  a  certain 
respect  for  me.  That  they  were  as  nothing  in  his  eyes 
raised  him  still  higher  in  my  estimation,  and  made  me 
more  miserable  than  I  had  been  before,  since  I  and 
my  sisters  must  be  only  a  burden  on  his  hands. 

Without  in  the  least  realizing  it  I  had,  unconscious- 
ly, taken  it  for  granted  that  I  should  receive  from  him 
the  ready  friendliness  generally  accorded  me  by  all 
whom  I  met.  I  had  hoped  I  might  not  please  him  too 
much — it  had  never  occurred  to  me  he  would  not  like 
me  at  all.  This  discovery  destroyed  completely  what 
little  wit  remained  to  me;  I  lost  my  customary  self- 
poise,  and  was  no  longer  capable  of  behaving  toward 
this  stranger  as  toward  others. 

I  glanced  up  involuntarily  at  the  portrait  of  my 
great-great-great-grandfather.  How  might  he  have 
taken  this  defection  on  the  part  of  a  Rappelle?  His 

74 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

blue  eyes  looked  coldly  down  into  mine,  a  smile  that 
was  a  sneer  was  always  upon  the  painted  lips.  His  de- 
scendant was  but  receiving  her  just  due,  I  said  to  my- 
self, as  I  sat  erect  in  his  great  armchair — the  Leopards 
holding  between  them  the  shield  with  its  motto,  Gare 
Griff  es,  surmounting  the  high  carved  back — growing 
now  hot,  and  now  cold,  as  waves  of  shame  for  myself, 
and  remorse  toward  Mr.  Rappelle,  swept  across  me. 

"I  thought  your  famous  opal  was  overrated,"  said 
Mr.  Rappelle — the  silence  that  had  seemed  unending 
to  me  having  in  reality  lasted  only  a  moment- — "but  it 
is,  indeed,  remarkably  beautiful.  Every  color  of  the 
rainbow  seems  fairly  to  flash  across  its  surface — blue, 
green;  ah,  now  it  is  crimson!  A  magnificent  gem. 
You  are  too  warm?  Let  me  help  you  off  with  that 
coat — no,  I  beg  you  will  keep  it  around  your  shoul- 
ders, so" — arranging  it  as  a  cloak.  "This  room  is  as 
damp  as  a  vault,  and  your  bright  color  has  quite  gone. 
The  opal,  too,  looks  white — curious !  Can  it  be  true, 
I  wonder,  that  opals  are  in  sympathy  with " 

He  glanced  from  the  gem  to  my  face  and  back 
again,  studying  both  with  as  cold  an  interest  as  if  they 
were,  both,  but  bits  of  stone.  I  sat  quite  still,  endur- 
ing, as  best  I  might,  his  earnest  scrutiny. 

"Do  you  believe  in  superstitions,  Theodora?" 

"No." 

"By  the  way,  are  you  called  Theodora  in  the  fam- 
ily?" 

"No,  Mr.  Rappelle." 

"My  name  is  Etienne,"  he  said  brusquely.  "I  beg 
you  will  use  it.  What  are  you  called,  please?" 

"Theo." 

"Very  well.  I  have  asked  you  to  grant  me  this  in- 
terview, Theo,  in  order  to  tell  you  what  arrangements 
I  have  made  for  you  and  your  sisters  during  my  ab- 
sence. I  shall  be  away  but  a  few  weeks.  I  regret  the 
necessity  of  going  at  all.  You  will,  I  trust,  be  ready 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

to  leave  Braithe  by  the  end  of  this  week,  when  you 
will  go  to  my  house  in  town  to  await  my  return.  You 
will  he  very  busy,  of  course,  getting  your  trousseau," 
a  grim  smile  flickered  about  his  thin  lips,  "since  I  gave 
you  no  time  in  which  to  make  the  ordinary  prepara- 
tions for  your  wedding."  He  was  silent  a  moment  as, 
from  his  position  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fire,  lean- 
ing lightly  against  the  chimney-piece,  he  surveyed  the 
big,  shabby  room.  Then  he  said,  "Braithe  House 
needs  a  thorough  going  over.  I  made  some  plans  on 
my  way  here  this  morning,  and  Merle  can  see  to  their 
being  carried  out.  I  won't  have  gas  or  electricity  put 
in ;  lamps  and  candles  suit  the  house  better." 

I  was  amazed  at  my  odd  feeling  of  relief  that  the  se- 
crets of  the  old  house  were  not  to  be  pried  into  by  gas- 
fitters  or  electricians.  Then  I  said,  "Yes,"  humbly, 
thinking  I  was  expected  to  say  something.  I  felt 
frightened  and  breathless;  to  obey  unquestioningly 
was  new  to  me.  But  I  saw  that  Mr.  Rappelle  hardly 
noticed  that  I  had  spoken — and  wondered,  until  his 
next  words  gave  me  the  explanation  needed. 

"Hervey  Merle  is  my  valet,  confidential  man,  fac- 
totum, what  you  will;  you  must  tell  him  what  you 
want  and  he'll  take  care  of  you.  I  shall,  in  fact,  leave 
you  in  his  charge." 

"Yes,"  I  again  murmured. 

"Shortly  before  his  death  your  father  spoke  to  me 
of  you,"  Mr.  Rappelle  went  on,  his  voice  growing  hard 
and  constrained,  "and  of  your  sister,  Lilian.  He  told 
me  that  you  had  led  the  lives  of  nuns,  never  seeing 
anybody,  going  nowhere ;  that,  in  short,  you  had  been 
denied  all  gayety,  and  were,  consequently,  unaccus- 
tomed to  society — and  its  ways." 

He  evidently  expected  no  answer,  so  I  made  none. 
Indeed  he  seemed  to  think  me  a  mindless  creature, 
with  no  ideas  of  my  own  and  no  will  power.  What  he 
said  was  as  much  to  himself  as  to  me,  his  conscience 

76 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

evidently  obliging  him  to  go  through  with  what  he 
considered  his  duty  toward  me. 

"It  is,  of  course,  unfortunate,"  he  continued,  speak- 
ing more  and  more  stiffly,  "that  you  have  never  seen 
any,"  he  hesitated,  "any — men.  Our  relations  to- 
ward each  other  are  very  peculiar,  and  may  become, 
for  you,  very  trying;  since  I  am  conservative.  I  have 
old-fashioned  ideas." 

He  stopped  short,  and  going  to  the  window  looked 
out  upon  the  river.  He  was  having  a  hard  time  and, 
though  pitying,  I  could  not  help  him.  For  how  could 
I  tell  him  that  my  father  had  told  a  falsehood,  in  giv- 
ing the  impression  that  I  had  never  seen  any  men? 
That  Mr.  Rappelle  thought  there  might  be  danger  of 
my  losing  my  heart,  and  not  to  him,  was  evident;  as 
evident  as  that  he  thought  me  guileless  through  lack 
of  experience — me,  Theodora  Braithe!  His  old-fash- 
ioned ideas  meant  that  I  was  to  be  very  circumspect  in 
my  behavior  toward  his  friends,  and  I  vowed  to  my- 
self that  I  would  be,  as  he  returned  to  the  fire  and  be- 
gan to  speak  again. 

"I  have  given  Mr.  Beecham  to  understand,"  he  said 
slowly,  "that  I  fell  in  love  with  you  at  your  father's 
funeral.  Those  who  see  you  will  think  this  quite  nat- 
ural— as,  also,  that  I  was  proud  to  ally  myself  with  a 
Braithe.  To  the  world  we  are  to  appear  as  man  and 
wife ;  but  it  is  my  earnest  desire  that  you  should  have 
some  years  in  which  to  enjoy  yourself  before — before 
settling  down.  I  shall  have  plenty  of  people  here  this 
summer — with  your  approval,  of  course — and  you 
will,  I  hope,  have  a  little  pleasure  after  your  many 
years  of  seclusion." 

Here,  I  felt,  was  my  opportunity  to  disabuse  his 
mind  of  false  ideas  in  regard  to  my  lack  of  experience. 
To  tell  him  that  I  was  older  than  my  years  in  sordid 
worldly  wisdom,  and  that  I  had  been  called  a  flirt.  I 
tried  to  speak,  but  failed.  I  could  find  neither  voice 

77 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

nor  words.  There  came  the  sound  of  laughter  from 
the  hall;  the  wedding  guests  were  leaving  the  dining- 
room.  I  thought  that  Mr.  Rappelle  had  nothing  more 
to  say,  and  rose  from  my  chair,  taking  his  coat  off  as 
I  did  so. 

"You  have  been  very  kind,"  I  faltered,  "and  I 
thank  you.  If  you  will  make  my  excuses  to — to  my 
friends,  I  will  not  see  them  again  to-day.  I — I  am 
rather — tired." 

He  looked  at  me  oddly. 

"You  must  have  your  portrait  painted  in  that 
chair,"  he  said,  replacing  the  coat  upon  my  shoulders 
and  buttoning  me  tightly  into  it,  as  though  in  silent 
rebuke  of  my  carelessness  in  regard  to  catching  cold. 
"The  wine-colored  velvet  of  its  covering  suits  you.  It 
must  be  renewed  in  the  same  shade.  And  that  re- 
minds me" — he  put  his  hand  in  his  breast  pocket, 
brought  out  a  small  jewel  box,  and  from  it  took  a  ring. 
"This  is  your  engagement  ring — allow  me." 

He  lifted  my  left  hand,  a  hand  frost-bitten  and 
roughened  by  housework,  quite  unfit  for  the  wearing 
of  jewels,  and  slipped  a  splendid  ruby,  set  in  dia- 
monds, upon  my  finger.  It  covered  the  plain  gold 
ring  already  placed  there,  hiding  it  out  of  sight.  He 
held  my  hand  a  moment  longer  than  was  necessary. 
Was  he  looking  at  it — or  only  at  the  ruby?  Was  he 
mortified  by  the  signs  of  labor  on  the  hand  of  his  wife  ? 

"Theo,"  he  said  as  he  released  me — his  voice  had 
grown  very  gentle — "I  hope  you  will  like  my  choice. 
I  think  rubies  suit  you,  but  if  you  would  prefer  some- 
thing else " 

"No,  no,"  I  said,  hastily,  "nothing  could  be  more 
beautiful." 

"I  am  glad  if  it  really  pleases  you,"  he  said.  "A 
girl  should  like  her  betrothal  ring.  Yours  is  given 
you  under  very  strange  circumstances.  As  I  told  you 
a  moment  ago,  I  am  old-fashioned.  It  is  my  belief 

78 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

that  men  and  women  should  marry  for  love  only.  I 
do  not  believe  in  divorce.  No  one,  if  I  can  prevent  it, 
shall  know  the  conditions  of  our  marriage.  I  must 
beg  you  to  help  me  in  this  by  writing  to  me  often  dur- 
ing my  absence ;  and  when  I  return,  by  treating  me — 
in  public — as  if  you  liked  me  a  little.  Now  I  will  take 
you  upstairs." 

He  went  to  the  bookcase,  pressed  the  secret  spring 
— as  if  he  had  done  so  a  hundred  times  before — and 
motioned  me  to  pass  before  him  into  the  little  room  be- 
yond. 

I  looked  at  him  in  astonishment,  wondering  that  he 
knew  this  secret  of  the  House.  He  read  and  an- 
swered the  question  in  my  eyes. 

"You  forget  that  my  grandparents  were  your  ser- 
vants"— his  voice  was  coldly  scornful — "it  was  neces- 
sary that  they  should  know  the  way  into  the  private 
rooms  of  their  masters."  He  turned  from  me  and 
glanced  about  the  narrow  room.  "This  will  be  my 
bedroom,"  he  said  briefly,  and  signed  to  me  to  go  up- 
stairs. At  the  top  of  the  spiral  stairway  he  said,  as  if 
to  himself,  "Ah,  yes!  the  dressing-room,"  and,  press- 
ing the  spring  in  the  wainscot,  stood  aside  while  I  en- 
tered Lydia's  apartment. 

It  was  dark  and  gloomy,  the  shutters  being  closed. 
Mr.  Rappelle  opened  those  of  the  east  window  and 
examined  the  room  with  his  keen,  decisive  glance — 
he  seemed  to  see  every  detail  in  one  swift  scrutiny — 
then  he  looked  at  me,  as  I  stood  waiting  his  pleasure, 
and  said,  as  if  to  himself,  "In  roses,  velvety  red  roses, 
on  white  silk.  The  furniture  pleases  you,  Theo? 
This  is  to  be  your  room,  of  course,  so  if  you  prefer  to 
have  it  modernized  pray  say  so." 

But  I  did  not  wish  it  changed ;  it  had  been  my  moth- 
er's room  and  Lydia's.  I  liked  its  old  mahogany.  I 
turned  toward  the  door  leading  into  the  hall,  but  Mr. 
Rappelle,  saying,  "You  will  wish  to  go  to  your  room," 

79 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

opened  that  communicating  with  my  bedroom,  and 
standing  aside  for  me  to  enter,  asked  permission  to 
follow. 

The  room  was  in  great  confusion,  a  distress  the  more 
to  me  since  my  companion  looked  about  him  with  un- 
embarrassed interest. 

"This  will  be  your  boudoir,"  he  said  decidedly,  roll- 
ing an  easy-chair  before  the  fire  and  signing  to  me  to 
sit  down.  "Pink  roses  here" — he  glanced  at  me — 
"soft  pink  roses  on  a  creamy  background.  Yes,  that 
will  do  very  well.  Ah !"  stepping  to  the  dressing-table, 
where  the  flowers  still  lay  in  their  open  boxes — no- 
body had  had  time  to  put  them  in  water — and  the 
cases  containing  the  diamonds  were  piled  in  a  careless 
heap.  "I  fear  I  made  but  a  poor  choice,  but  I  had  little 
time  in  which  to  choose.  The  ring,  the  ruby  ring, 
concerned  me  most." 

I  murmured  a  few  stupid  words  in  thanks.  Mr. 
Rappelle,  paying  no  apparent  heed,  brought  me  a 
handful  of  red  roses. 

"Please  give  me  one,"  he  said,  and  laid  them  on  my 
lap.  "No,  on  second  thoughts,  three." 

I  looked  up  at  him,  intending  to  ask  him  to  choose 
for  himself;  then  moved  by  a  sudden  impulse,  I  se- 
lected the  three.  A  bud,  a  half-blown  rose,  and  the 
perfect  flower.  As  I  gave  them  to  him  Mr.  Rappelle 
smiled — such  a  kind,  well-pleased  smile.  My  cheeks 
flushed  painfully. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  slowly.  "I  believe  in  omens. 
Ah!  I  was  forgetting  that  you  do  not." 

His  expression  changed  back  into  its  former  cold- 
ness, the  kind  look  in  his  brilliant  eyes  died  away.  He 
put  the  flowers  carefully,  however,  into  a  pocket  of 
the  coat  I  had  at  last  been  allowed  to  take  off,  and  I 
knew  quite  well  that  they  would  not  be  crushed. 
Etienne  Rappelle  evidently  looked  after  his  own 
well. 

80 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

Going  again  to  the  dressing-table  he  placed  upon  it  a 
handsome  purse  and  an  envelope. 

"You  will  need  what  is  here,"  he  said,  for  the  first 
time  showing  embarrassment,  "and,  probably,  much 
more.  Merle  will  keep  you  supplied.  And  I  must 
beg,"  raising  his  hand  to  silence  the  protest  on  my 
lips,  "that  you  will  get  for  yourself  and  your  sisters 
everything  that  you  need.  Remember,  Theo" — 
a  grim  smile  played  about  his  thin  lips — "that  I  lose 
or  gain  credit  according  as  you  appear — so  pray  shine. 

You  will  find  there  a  letter  of  introduction  to ," 

he  named  a  celebrated  surgeon.  "He  is  a  personal 
friend  of  mine.  I  hope  he  may  be  able  to  do  some- 
thing for  the  poor  little  child." 

I  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not  for  the  tears,  for  the 
emotion  that  choked  me. 

"Good-by,  Theo,"  he  stood  close  beside  me,  and  he 
spoke  very  gently.  "Don't  rise,  I  beg.  I  will  write 
to  you  from  town  to-night.  Tell  Merle  just  what  you 
want.  Good-by!" 

The  door  closed;  he  was  gone. 


81 


IX 

I  sat  quite  still,  staring  through  my  tears  at  the 
roses  on  my  lap ;  but  for  them  I  should  have  thought 
the  events  of  the  morning  a  dream,  and  a  wild  one. 
The  rich  fragrance  of  these  red,  red  roses  filled  the 
room,  bringing  thoughts  of  summer  sunshine  and 
drowsy  warmth,  of  birds,  butterflies,  and  bees;  of  our 
old-fashioned  garden,  with  its  sun-dial  saying  ever: 

"I  count  life  by  sunny  hours  and  them  alone." 
Would  the  coming  summer  bring  sunny  hours  to  little 
Jane  and  me? 

A  sudden  rattle  of  hail  against  the  window,  hail 
driven  so  fiercely  by  the  angry  wind  gusts  that  it 
sounded  like  shot,  and  threatened  to  break  the  panes, 
roused  me  to  a  sense  of  what  was  going  on  in  Braithe. 
The  room  had  grown  quite  gloomy,  the  steely  hail- 
cloud  darkening  the  sky.  As  I  dried  my  eyes  and 
looked  about  me  the  front  door  shut  heavily,  and  a 
•carriage  rolled  down  the  avenue. 

A  moment  later  Lilian  whirled  into  the  room.  She 
was  in  high  spirits,  but  scolded  a  little  over  her  er- 
rand as  she  ran  hither  and  thither. 

"The  Lord  High  Cheesemonger's  gone  at  last, 
Theo,"  she  said,  "but  he  left  orders  in  plenty  behind 
him — where  are  Mrs.  Strong's  gloves?  Oh,  never 
mind,  I've  found  them.  Yes,  I'm  sent  to  get  her  things 
because  you,  milady,  are  not  to  be  disturbed.  The  way 
that  man  slings  on  style  beats  all!  'Mrs.  Rappelle,' 
quoth  he,"  she  tried  to  make  her  voice  pompous  and 
commanding,  "  'begs  me  to  excuse  her  to  her  friends' 

82 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

— friends,  indeed,  Gills,  Strongs,  and  strangers! — 
'Mrs.  Rappelle' — he's  bursting  with  pride  over  the 
match  he's  made,  and  no  wonder — 'Mrs.  Rappelle  is 
tired  and  I  think  she  had  better  rest.'  Then  he  sends 
me  to  fetch  and  carry  for  Mrs.  Strong!  He's  got  sand 
enough,  but  old  bachelors  always  have.  Not  that  he's 
old  in  his  own  estimation — I  suppose  he  feels  he's 
o'er  young  to  marry  yet,  seeing  all  the  other  Rap- 
pelles  waited  to  do  it  till  they  were  octogenarians. 
Theo!"  she  paused  beside  me  frowning,  suspicious, 
"What  are  you  doing,  what  have  you  been  doing  with 
those  roses  ?  Have  you  begun  flirting  with  that — that 
grocer  already?" 

"No,  Lilian,"  I  said  very  sadly,  "and  I  wonder  that 
you  can  have  the  heart  to  ask  me  such  a  question." 

"Then  what  are  you  doing  with  them?"  she  per- 
sisted. I  blushed  hotly.  I  was  glad  she  did  not  know 
where  three  had  gone.  "There,"  she  exclaimed, 
"your  cheeks  are  scarlet !  You  have  been  posing  with 
them,  amusing  yourself  turning  that  fool's  head. 
Well,  he's  gone  for  a  few  weeks  at  least,  but  I'm  dis- 
gusted with  you,"  and  she  swept  from  the  room. 

I  rose  hastily,  anxious  to  be  rid  of  the  flowers,  re- 
membering, with  a  pang  of  shame,  the  odd  selection  I 
had  made  when  choosing  the  three.  What  had  pos- 
sessed me  ?  Must  I  ever,  because  of  the  Braithe  taint 
in  my  veins,  strive  to  please,  even  unconsciously?  For 
I  had  had  no  conscious  desire  to  say  anything  to 
Mr.  Rappelle  through  the  roses.  My  conscience  ac- 
quitted me,  yet  I  hurried  the  flowers  into  water 
and  placed  them  on  a  far  away  table,  my  cheeks  as 
red  as  they. 

How  good  Mr.  Rappelle  had  proved  himself,  how 
generous!  My  heart  ached,  fairly,  with  gratitude. 
He  gave  everything,  asked  nothing.  I  must  strive  to 
forget  the  scorn  in  his  eyes,  to  remember  always  that 
it  was  deserved.  How  might  an  honorable  man  feel 

83 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

otherwise  toward  a  woman  who  had  willingly  sold  her- 
self for  money?  I  must  learn  to  live  without  his  re- 
spect and,  harder  still,  without  my  own. 

Thus  thinking  I  chanced  to  glance  at  the  pictures 
nearest  me:  those  of  my  father  and  Herbert  Payne. 
A  sudden  longing  to  see  once  more  my  old  playfellow 
took  possession  of  me,  and,  taking  his  photograph  from 
its  place,  I  carried  it  to  the  window  and  looked  long  at 
the  handsome  face  of  my  boy  cousin.  I  wished  he  had 
been  with  me  that  morning,  had  given  me  away;  his 
right,  surely,  as  my  nearest  relative.  As  I  gazed  mus- 
ingly at  the  picture  I  forgot,  for  the  moment,  all 
his  faults  of  character  that  had,  as  a  child,  grated  upon 
me,  remembering,  instead,  only  the  sunny  tempera- 
ment, the  readiness  to  please — and  to  be  pleased — the 
easy-going  unconsciousness  of  the  failings  of  others. 
I  did  not  say  to  myself,  as  always  hitherto,  that  he  was 
incapable  of  recognizing  moral  lapses  in  his  compan- 
ions, because  he  himself  was  without  sense  of  moral 
obligation.  No,  I  simply  longed  for  his  easy  presence. 
He  had  never  judged  me;  had  he  been  with  me  he 
would  have  told  me  all  had  been  well  done,  that  all 
must  come  right  in  the  end.  For  if  Herbert  had 
sometimes  teased,  he  had  always  petted  me  when  I 
thought  I  had  done  wrong.  Why  I  fancied  that 
though  never  able  to  quiet  my  child's  conscience,  he 
might  now  set  my  grown-up  one  at  ease,  I  do  not  un- 
derstand. My  mind  indulged  in  strange  vagaries  on 
that  changeful  March  day. 

A  plaintive  whine  outside  my  door  caused  me  to 
hang  up  my  cousin's  picture  hastily  and  run  to  let  in 
the  Chevalier.  He  entered  slowly,  not  looking  at  me, 
stepping  warily,  legs  stiffened  as  if  treading  upon  very 
breakable  eggs,  and  going  to  the  corner  of  the  room 
where  he  was  obliged  to  do  penance  for  his  sins — 
called  by  Jane  the  Corner  of  Punishment — sat  him- 
self down  gingerly,  squeezed  himself  as  tight  against 

84 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

the  wall  as  possible,  and  then  allowed  himself  one  fur- 
tive glance  at  me. 

I  knew  at  once  that  he,  too,  had  been  forbidden  to 
disturb  "Mrs.  Rappelle."  Lilian,  glad  in  her  turn  to 
give  orders,  had  probably  told  Jane  sharply  to  keep 
"that  tiresome  beast  away  from  poor  Theo." 

"Good  Chevalier!"  I  said  tenderly,  sitting  down 
again  in  the  chair  by  the  fire.  "Good  Charles  Stuart 
to  come  to  his  Theo;  he  knew  she  wanted  him." 

Ah,  my  collie,  my  Chevalier — my  true-hearted 
friend !  In  an  instant  he  had  bounded  from  his  corner 
and,  whimpering  with  pleasure,  had  laid  his  paws 
upon  the  arm  of  my  chair  and  his  beautiful  head 
against  my  breast.  Poor  fellow!  He  was  almost 
plethoric  with  overgorging  at  my  wedding  feast  (a 
feast  he  would  have  died  rather  than  have  touched 
had  he  known  what  it  meant  to  me)  and  no  sooner  was 
he  sure  that  I  approved  his  coming,  than  he  settled 
himself  upon  the  hearth-rug  with  a  grunt  of  satisfac- 
tion, and  snored  profoundly. 

There  came  another  sound  outside  my  door,  the 
gentle  tinkle  of  glasses,  then  a  timid  knock.  It  was 
Hervey  Merle  who  entered,  in  answer  to  my  "Come 
in" ;  Hervey  Merle  bearing  a  tray  covered  with  a  dainty 
array  of  dishes  and  a  bottle  of  wine.  He  wheeled  a 
table  to  my  side,  set  the  tray  upon  it,  then,  rescuing 
the  roses  from  their  distant  corner,  placed  them  near 
the  tray.  The  Chevalier,  roused  from  his  nap,  blinked 
lazily  at  the  stranger  and  the  viands,  already  too  ac- 
customed to  both,  by  one  short  day's  experience,  to 
heed  either. 

"I  told  the  young  ladies,  Mrs.  Rappelle,  that  you 
would  take  some  refreshment  while  alone.  Better  a 
dish  of  herbs,  and  peace  and  wine  therewith,  than  a 
stale  ox  served  half  raw.  Try  this  chicken-and-lettuce 
sandwich,  dear  lady;  I  made  it  myself;  you  ate  no 
luncheon." 

85 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

So  saying  Hervey  Merle  spread  a  napkin  deftly 
across  my  lap,  filled  a  glass  with  port — something  told 
me  it  had  been  brought  from  town  by  Mr.  Rappelle 
for  Janey — and  handed  it  to  me  with  a  low  bow. 

It  was  new  to  me  to  be  cared  for  and  waited  upon ; 
new,  and  very  pleasant.  I  looked  with  some  curiosity 
at  Hervey  Merle.  He  was  small,  but  appeared  strong 
—a  wiry  little  man,  with  sandy  hair  parted  so  much 
to  one  side  that  it  rose  high  on  top  of  his  head,  like  the 
ridiculous  fat  curl  worn  there  by  little  boys  in  faded 
daguerreotypes.  His  small  deep  set  gray  eyes  looked 
keenly  out  from  beneath  bushy  eyebrows,  his  features 
were  insignificant,  his  cheeks  as  fresh-colored  as  a 
winter  apple. 

As  I  glanced  at  him  he  smiled  his  deprecatory 
smile,  his  head  a  little  to  one  side,  as  if  hoping  he  had 
pleased  me,  but  doubtful. 

"You  have  made  me  so  comfortable,  Hervey,"  I 
said.  "lam  to  call  you  Hervey?"  He  bowed.  "You 
must  let  me  thank  you."  His  color  rose  high.  "Mr. 
Rappelle  tells  me  you  are  to  remain  with  me;  I  am 
very  glad,  for  I  am  sure  I  shall  like  you."  He  laid 
his  hand  on  his  heart,  bowing  again  and  again. 

"If  I  may  be  allowed  to  heat  bricks,"  he  murmured, 
"and  put  them  in  the  beds?  You  can't  make  a  silk 
purse  out  of  worn-out  cloth — still  hot  bricks " 

"Pray  do;  Miss  Janey  loves  to  be  warm — and  you, 
Hervey,"  suddenly  remembering  the  servantless  con- 
dition of  the  house.  Where  was  he  to  sleep?  I  put 
down  the  wine  I  was  comfortably  sipping,  and  rose 
to  my  feet,  disgusted  by  my  selfishness,  "I  will  see 
about  a  room  for  you  at  once,  Hervey,"  I  said.  "I 
should  have  thought  of  it  before." 

"You — to  think  of  me!"  exclaimed  the  little  man, 
in  an  apparent  rapture  of  gratitude.  "Of  me !  When 
a  blanket  before  the  parlor  fire!  Of  me — and  her 
wedding  day!" 

86 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

I  was  back  in  my  chair,  the  glass  of  wine  again  in 
my  hand,  before  I  well  knew  what  had  happened. 

"The  sun  sets,"  said  my  strange  servitor.  "I  will 
bring  a  lamp.  For  you,  sir,"  to  the  Chevalier,  "there 
is  a  bone  downstairs."  And  he  went  away;  but 
Charles  Stuart,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  was  too 
full  for  bones. 

"Isn't  Hervey  queer?"  said  Janey,  later,  "but  I 
like  him.  What  do  you  suppose  he  said  when  he 
got  supper  for  us?  'Funeral  baked  meats,  even 
when  cold,  are  tastier  sometimes  than  a  wedding 
feast." 

"I  wish  it  hadn't  hailed,"  said  Lilian,  fretfully; 
"dubious  morning,  and  short  hail  shower!  Well,  the 
afternoon  has  been  bright,  and  it's  a  glorious  night;  it 
might  have  been  worse,  I  suppose.  That  idiot,  Abel 
Wylde,  spilled  coffee  on  my  gown!  Not  that  it  mat- 
ters now,"  superbly;  "I  shall  give  the  old  dud  to  the 
poor." 

"I  wish  poor  Jim  might  have  been  with  us  this 
morning,"  I  said,  musingly,  "and  Herbert  Fayne." 

"Theo!"  exclaimed  Lilian,  in  disgust,  "what  horrid 
people  you  care  for.  That  common  Jim  Wylde! 
Why,  I  hated  him  even  when  I  was  a  child,  and  they 
say  he's  as  bad  as  he  can  be." 

"I  wish  he'd  come  home,"  I  sighed.  I  did  not  care 
to  tell  Lilian  how  often  the  name  of  my  old  playmate 
rose  to  my  lips  in  prayer.  If  only  he  would  turn  over 
a  new  leaf!  He  had  been  good  and  generous-hearted 
as  a  boy. 

"Herbert,  too,"  continued  Lilian.  "Of  all  disagree- 
able people!  What  did  you  want  him  for,  pray?" 

"He  ought  to  have  given  me  away,  Lilian." 

"Why?" 

"Because  he's  our  nearest  male  relative,"  I  said. 

"Yes,  he's  a  Braithe  all  through,"  said  Lilian,  spite- 
fully, "as  far  as  Braithe  vices  go.  Theo!  do  you  know 

87  • 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

I  believe  he's  no  Fayne  at  all,  but  just  a  Braithe;  he's 
the  image  of  Old  Vivian." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  asked,  astonished  by  her 
strange  words,  but  Lilian  paid  no  heed. 

"His  mother  was  father's  sister,  and  just  like  him, 
so,  of  course,  no  morals  at  all,  and  Uncle  Fayne  was  as 
ugly  as  sin,  and  lost  his  money  before  they'd  been 
married  a  year.  Dear  me,  what  an  idiot  I've  been  not 
to  understand  before,  when  I've  heard  often  enough 
how  that  handsome  second  cousin  of  father's,  Herbert 
Braithe,  shot  himself  after  she  died.  Herbert  Braithe 
Fayne !  Very  appropriate,  to  be  sure." 

I  cried  out  aghast  at  these  strange,  these  evil  imag- 
inings on  my  sister's  part,  but  she  waved  my  remon- 
strances aside,  telling  me  to  think  as  I  pleased,  and  let 
her  alone.  Then  she  asked  what  Mr.  Rappelle  had 
said  to  me  in  the  library.  When  she  heard  she  was 
very  much  pleased. 

"So  he  thinks  you  a  kind  of  simpleton,  does  he?" 
she  commented.  "Then  you  act  up  to  it,  Theo;  that 
will  keep  him  at  arm's  length  better  than  anything 
else.  And  father  said  we  were  like  nuns!"  she  laughed 
sweetly.  "Bless  his  lying  old  tongue — so  he  filled  the 
grocer's  eyes  with  dust!  Well,  you  must  keep  them 
full,  Theo,  and  do  your  flirting  on  the  sly  (for  flirt  you 
will  when  the  chance  comes,  it's  in  the  blood),  for  if 
you  do  it  in  the  open  he'll  divorce  you,  sure  as  shoot- 
ing. Now  don't  blaze  out  with  your  religious  non- 
sense about  not  believing  in  divorce!  What'll  you 
have  to  say  about  it,  pray?  And  if  you  mash  him 
there'll  be  the  same  result,  for  then  he'll  be  forever 
hanging  'round,  and,  sooner  or  later,  catch  you  amus- 
ing yourself.  There'll  be  rows  from  morning  till 
night  then,  and  the  divorce  court  to  end  up  with.  Now 
that  we've  got  the  Rappelle  money,  do,  for  Heaven's 
sake,  behave  yourself  so  that  we  can  keep  it  in  the 
family — where  it  has  always  belonged." 

88 


For  a  time  after  my  marriage  I  felt  as  though  living 
in  a  dream.  We  went  to  town  to  Mr.  Rappelle's  fine 
house,  and  began  to  spend  a  very  great  deal  of  money. 
Lilian  took  to  luxury  and  extravagance  naturally,  but 
they  frightened  me.  Accustomed  all  my  life  to  the 
practise  of  the  most  rigid  economy,  I  felt  it  wicked  to 
throw  away  in  a  week  what  would,  in  old  times,  have 
made  us  comfortable  for  a  year.  The  price  of  our  new 
gowns  worried  me,  and  Lilian  bought  many.  To  her 
delight  Mr.  Rappelle  had  asked  me  to  make  my  mourn- 
ing as  light  as  possible,  and  she,  saying  she  must  do 
the  same,  wore  black  lace  frocks  and  silks  of  pale  lilac, 
most  becoming  to  her  fair  beauty.  She  had  a  maid, 
and  kept  her  busy.  This  Hervey  had  suggested. 

"Lilian's  changed  her  spots,"  remarked  Janey  one 
morning,  when  Lilian  was  starting  on  one  of  her  end- 
less shopping  excursions.  "But  she  always  said  she 
would  be  neat  if  she  were  rich  and  saw  people." 

Hervey  had  come  in  to  ask  my  orders  for  the  day. 
"New  brooms  sweep  well  for  a  time,  of  course,"  he 
said  absently,  then  added,  "but,  as  you  were  thinking, 
Mrs.  Rappelle,  it  is  high  time  I  engaged  a  maid  for 
Miss  Lilian.  I'll  do  so  at  once." 

Hervey  was  manager  during  Mr.  Rappelle's  ab- 
sence, and  always  assumed  that  what  he  wished  done 
I  had  already  ordered.  I  did  not  approve  of  the  ex- 
pense of  a  maid,  but  my  objections  were  apparently 
unheard  by  him,  for  one  appeared,  to  wait  upon  Lilian, 
the  next  day. 

Mr.  Rappelle  was  away  but  a  few  short  weeks;  when 
89 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

he  returned  I  saw  little  of  him,  rarely  meeting  him 
save  at  meals,  and  never  being  alone  with  him  but 
when  driving  in  the  park.  Lilian  insisted  that  I 
should  endeavor  to  appear  as  the  quiet,  nun-like  coun- 
try girl  my  father  had  described  me,  and  although  I 
could  not  agree  with  her  as  to  the  fatal  effect  of  my 
conversational  charms,  I  felt  so  shy  and  ill  at  ease  with 
Mr.  Rappelle  that  the  role  required  no  acting. 
Tongue-tied,  sad-hearted,  I  sat  at  the  head  of  his  table 
when  we  had  no  guests;  and,  when  not  alone,  Lilian 
kept  so  sharp  a  watch  upon  me — fearing  lest  my  spirits 
might  rise  and  I  betray  my  real  nature — that  embar- 
rassment held  me  dumb. 

My  only  relaxation  was  when  in  the  studio  of  Mon- 
sieur Randoce,  an  amateur  portrait  painter  whose  tal- 
ent Mr.  Rappelle  admired  greatly.  This  handsome 
Frenchman  had  asked  permission  to  paint  my  portrait, 
and  Mr.  Rappelle,  delighted,  had  consented  without 
even  consulting  me. 

Accompanied  by  Lilian's  maid  or  Hervey,  I  went 
almost  daily  to  sit  for  Monsieur  Randoce,  and,  seeing 
that  he  was  a  seasoned  society  man,  accustomed  to  gay 
society  chatter,  I  let  myself  go,  and  laughed  and  talked 
to  my  heart's  content.  This  was  a  great  relief;  though 
I  paid  for  my  amusement  when  he  came  to  dine,  and 
I  had  to  resume  my  silent  role. 

After  these  occasions  Lilian  spoke  to  me,  more  than 
once,  upon  the  necessity  of  keeping  to  my  part.  Her 
words  were  vulgar,  but  her  voice,  always  high-bred  and 
melodious,  made  them  sound  a  trifle  less  brutal  than 
they  really  were.  Janey  was  present  during  one  of 
these  lectures,  to  my  deep  regret. 

"I  wish  Etienne  would  go  back  to  Europe  and  stay 
there,"  Lilian  began,  "for  you're  beginning  to  weaken. 
Anyone  can  see  that  you're  dying  to  mash  him,  and 
there  will  be  the  dickens  to  pay  if  you  do." 

"Lilian!"  I  exclaimed,  indignant. 
90 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

"You  needn't  lose  your  temper  and  play  innocent 
to  me,"  she  went  on.  "You've  always  flirted  like  fury 
whenever  you  got  a  chance,  just  as  you're  now  doing 
with  Randoce.  Mash  the  grocer's  son  and  see  what'll 
happen;  you  can't  expect  him  to  have  fine  feelings, 
like  us  Braithes.  He  probably  thinks  you're  nothing 
but  his  squaw,  and — well,  just  you  watch  out." 

"I  hate  you,  Lilian!"  cried  Janey,  stamping  her 
small  foot.  "Poor  Theo,  turning  all  colors  of  the  rain- 
bow! You  imagine  fine  feathers  are  everything — 
daw,  with  peacock's  plumes.  But  you're  common,  yes, 
common  and — and  low!" 

"Hush,  little  Jane,"  I  said,  distressed  by  the 
turn  the  conversation  had  taken,  "and,  Lilian,  you 
need  not  be  alarmed ;  Mr.  Rappelle  dislikes  me  very 
much." 

I  could  not  but  regret  this,  although  I  knew  it  was 
for  the  best.  To  Lilian  Mr.  Rappelle  was  always  the 
attentive  host;  to  my  Janey  the  most  tender  and  de- 
voted of  brothers.  When  in  public,  he  treated  me 
with  the  eager  courtesy  of  a  bridegroom,  but  at  other 
times  with  only  the  cold  politeness  due  to  my  sex. 
And  I,  I  was  afraid  of  him.  I  dreaded  being  alone 
with  him,  since  then  the  old  scornful  pity  shone  in  his 
long,  dark  eyes,  and  galled  me. 

"I  wish  you'd  mind  and  not  open  your  head  when 
he's  around,"  Lilian  continued.  "You  were  on  the 
verge  of  doing  it  last  night  when  Randoce  was  here. 
I'll  do  the  talking.  Don't  you  even  look  at  Rappelle. 
Do  the  Simple  Susan  act,  and,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't 
indulge  in  laughing.  If  only  that  hateful  old  Hervey 
don't  give  you  dead  away  and  bust  the  whole  business! 
You're  always  gabbling  and  giggling  with  him,  turn- 
ing the  old  idiot's  head.  I  understand  liking  to  flirt, 
Theo — given  a  suitable  flirtee,  like  Randoce,  for  in- 
stance, and  there's  nothing  like  it,  of  course — but  the 
way  you  trouble  to  lay  out  everybody,  beats  me. 

91 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

Yes,  everybody  and  everything!  Men,  women,  chil- 
dren, dogs,  horses,  cats — all's  fish  comes  to  your  net, 
and  into  it  they  must  go!" 

Janey  had,  to  my  relief,  left  the  room. 

Ah  me!  All  the  Rappelle  wealth  might  not  free 
my  little  sister  from  the  chains  of  pain  that  bound  her. 
The  best  doctors  had  been  consulted  in  vain;  they 
could  help,  but  to  cure  was  impossible.  My  sole 
comfort  lay  in  the  knowledge  that  she  had  every 
luxury ;  a  good  maid,  trained  to  nursing,  to  wait 
upon  her,  and  a  carriage  to  take  her  daily  into  the 
open  air. 

Mr.  Rappelle  was  very  generous  to  us,  grudging  us 
nothing  that  money  could  buy;  too  generous,  I 
thought,  and  one  day,  finding  myself  alone  with  him, 
I  said  so. 

"You  are  not  extravagant,  but  the  reverse,"  he 
said,  looking  at  me  coldly.  "When  money  was  in  my 
part  of  the  marriage  contract,  why  do  you  hesitate  to 
spend?" 

"I  have  spent  a  great  deal,"  I  said. 

"You  don't  show  for  it,  then." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  asked,  startled. 

"You  wear  that  thing,"  pointing  at  my  dinner  gown 
of  black  satin,  "one  night,  and  a  ruifly  black  one  the 
next.  If  you  have  such  a  superabundance  of  toilets 
why  don't  you  wear  them?" 

I  was  silent,  not  wishing  to  say  where  the  money 
had  gone. 

"Clothes  are  not  everything,"  I  faltered. 

"They  happen  to  be  in  this  instance.  Don't  you 
care  for  dress,  Theo?" 

"Yes,  I  am  fond  of  pretty  things."  I  wished  very 
much  that  I  had  held  my  tongue  on  the  money  ques- 
tion. 

"I  know  what  has  gone  for  charity" — I  looked  at 
him  in  astonishment;  how  was  this  possible? — "but 

92 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

what  I  wish  to  know  is — will  you  kindly  inform  me 
how  many  frocks  you  possess?" 

"Oh,"  I  said,  evasively,  "a  good  many." 

"Evening  dresses,"  he  persisted,  "how  many,  besides 
these  two  familiar  friends?" 

I  remained  silent. 

"Oblige  me  by  answering." 

"I  have  these  two,"  I  said  desperately.  If  this  sort 
of  thing  kept  on  I  felt  I  might  end  by  detesting  Mr. 
Rappelle. 

"There  is  no  reason  why  Mrs.  Rappelle's  sister 
should  not  adorn  herself,"  said  this  strange  man,  "but 
Mrs.  Rappelle  need  not  play  the  part  of  eiderdown 
duck,  in  order  to  provide  her  with  the  raiment  her 
soul  loves.  Let  Lilian  revel  in  finery  if  she  pleases, 
but  henceforth  I  must  beg  my  wife  to  see  that  Lilian 
does  not  outshine  her." 

So  he  knew  that  the  heavy  dressmakers'  bills  were 
really  Lilian's!  Well,  it  was  kind  of  him  not  to  object. 
I  said  so. 

"You  are  very  generous,  Etienne" ;  and  my  long 
tongue  running  away  with  me,  I  added,  "you  give 
everything  and  receive — "  I  hesitated,  faltered,  be- 
came silent. 

"Nothing,  you  were  about  to  say,  Theo?"  he  smiled 
grimly.  "I  think  you  forget  the  honor  of  the  con- 
nection. To  the  husband  of  the  beautiful  Miss  Braithe 
of  Braithe  Manor  the  world  has  nothing  left  to 
offer." 

I  turned  and  left  the  room  without  a  word,  driven 
by  the  stones  of  his  scorn.  It  was  natural,  I  said  to 
myself,  as  I  tried  to  check  my  tears,  quite  natural  that 
an  honorable  man  should  despise  a  woman  who  had 
consented  to  marry  a  stranger  for  money,  but  was 
it  kind  to  let  her  see  the  contempt  in  which  he  held 
her,  so  plainly?  Then  I  reminded  myself  how  tire- 
some I  had  been  when  with  him;  never  trying  to  show 

93 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

my  gratitude  by  striving  to  be  agreeable.  No  wonder 
he  was  irritable,  he  was  convinced  that  he  had  married 
a  fool.  I  could  not  thoroughly  enjoy  the  success  of 
my  own  acting;  I  disliked  very  much  being  thought 
foolish. 


XI 

We  returned  to  Braithe  late  in  May.  Lilian  tried 
to  persuade  Mr.  Rappelle  to  postpone  our  home- 
coming until  June,  but  in  vain.  She  prophesied  much 
evil  from  this  foolish  choice  of  what  she  believed  to 
be  an  unlucky  month.  Her  discomfort  vanished,  how- 
ever, when,  on  our  arrival  in  Hilltown  one  lovely  May 
afternoon,  she  found  a  barouche  drawn  by  four  horses, 
in  waiting  to  carry  us  home.  The  deep  rose-pink 
stained  her  cheeks  and,  in  her  excitement,  forgetting 
her  usually  pretty  company  manners,  she  pushed  past 
me  in  order  to  enter  the  carriage  at  once.  Mr.  Rap- 
pelle laid  a  detaining  hand  upon  her  arm. 

"Theo  first,  Lilian,"  he  said  quietly,  and  helped 
me  in. 

"O  Etienne,  forgive  me!"  she  cried,  paling  never- 
theless with  displeasure.  She  was  very  angry. 

Janey,  in  high  feather,  occupied  the  box  with  Mr. 
Rappelle,  who  drove.  The  grooms  clambered  on  their 
seat  behind  us  as  we  dashed  up  the  hill. 

"Such  bad  form!"  ejaculated  Lilian.  "No  real  gen- 
tleman would  think  of  driving  himself  in  a  barouche. 
I  should  think  the  men  would  fall  off  that  nasty  little 
seat  behind  the  hood.  A  gentleman  considers  the  com- 
fort of  his  dependents,  but  what  can  one  expect  of  a 
parvenu?" 

"I  wish  you  would  remember  that  you  are  speak- 
ing to  his  wife,"  I  said,  ruffled  by  her  words.  "Etienne 
had  this  carriage  so  that  Janey  might  lie  down  on  the 
back  seat,  if  tired  by  the  journey,  and  four  horses  to 
get  her  home  quickly." 

95 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

"Sweet  sensibility  O  La!"  she  quoted,  "I  heard  a 
little  lamb  cry  baa " 

We  had  turned  into  the  main  street  and  I  cut  Lilian 
short  by  calling  to  Etienne  to  stop.  I  had  caught  sight 
of  Mrs.  Strong,  walking  comfortably  homeward.  Her 
kind  face  flushed  with  pleasure  as,  the  carriage  draw- 
ing up,  I  sprang  out  and  caught  her  hands  in  mine. 
It  seemed  years  since  I  had  seen  her,  and  I  laughed 
as  I  kissed  her  cheek,  having  much  difficulty  in  re- 
straining my  tears;  each  day  they  came  more  easily. 
Mr.  Rappelle,  lifting  Janey  from  her  high  seat,  joined 
us,  greeting  Mrs.  Strong  with  cordial  respect,  and 
Lilian,  seeing  friendliness  was  the  fashion,  followed 
suit. 

"How  well  you  all  look!"  exclaimed  the  kindly 
simple  soul,  beaming  upon  us.  "And,  dear  me,  how 
fashionable !  JSTow  I  get  a  better  look  at  you,  Theo, 
I  think  you've  grown  thin.  Too  much  town  amuse- 
ment, is  that  it,  spinning  street-yarn  all  day  ?  Yes, 
you  certainly  are  very  thin.  Well,  country  air 
will  soon  brace  you  up.  Make  her  drink  milk,  Mr. 
EappeUe." 

"May  I  come  and  see  you  soon?"  I  asked.  Etienne 
was  scrutinizing  me  closely.  I  wished  that  she  had  not 
commented  upon  my  appearance. 

"The  sooner  the  better,  my  dear,"  was  the  hearty 
answer.  "Come  early,  before  ten  o'clock.  Doctor 
will  want  to  see  you.  Dear  me,  I  believe  he  thinks 
the  sun  rises  and  sets  with  Theo  Braithe!  And  he's 
been  in  the  dark  some  time  now;  ever  since  you  went 
away."  And  laughing  delightedly  over  her  own  wit 
she  walked  briskly  away. 

"Vulgar  old  thing!"  grumbled  Lilian,  as  we  rolled 
rapidly  northward.  "I  did  hope  we  were  done  with 
common  people!  Shall  I  ever  forget  your  wedding 
and  the  ceaseless  twaddle  of  her  and  Mrs.  Gill?  But 
you  like  vulgarians,  Theo." 

96 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

As  we  drew  near  Braithe  my  heart  began  to  beat  to 
suffocation.  I  had  not  realized  how  many,  and  varying 
emotions,  my  return  to  the  old  house  would  awaken. 
A  cry  of  delight  from  Janey  told  me  when  we  turned 
into  the  avenue,  for  again  the  troublesome  tears  were 
blurring  my  vision.  The  stone  pillars,  just  beyond  the 
little  bridge,  were  wreathed  with  flowers  in  our  honor. 
We  dashed  on,  up  the  hill  and  between  the  long  lines 
of  locust  trees;  the  Leopards  grinned  at  us  through 
garlands  of  wisteria  and  lilac  blossoms.  We  were 
at  home. 

At  the  foot  of  the  long  flight  of  stone  steps  stood 
Hervey  Merle.  Ignoring  everyone  save  me,  he  offered 
a  huge  bouquet  of  lilies-of-the-valley,  bowing  low. 

"Welcome  home,  dear  madam,"  he  said  gravely, 
"for  home  is  where  the  head  must  seek  its  pillow;  and 
be  it  ever  so  humble  there's  generally  no  place  else 
to  go.  May  I  be  permitted  to  show  you  to  your  room?" 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Rappelle,  suddenly  appearing  beside 
me,  "I  will  attend  to  Mrs.  Rappelle." 

We  entered  the  large  central  hall  together.  It  was 
no  longer  gloomy,  the  skylight  having  been  greatly 
enlarged.  I  expressed  my  approval  warmly;  at  least 
I  might  be  lavish  in  praise. 

"Yes,  it  is  an  improvement,"  said  Etienne.  He 
spoke  without  enthusiasm.  "You  can  see  now  to  read 
that  old  motto  over  the  chimney.  Have  you  any  idea 
what  it  means?" 

"My  little  mother  knew,"  said  Janey,  pushing  in 
between  us ;  and  taking  mv  hand  in  one  of  hers  she 
slipped  the  other  into  Etienne's.  "She  said  when 
Faith,  meaning  a  woman,  you  know,  and  Honor,  that 
means  a  man,  plight  trouthe — isn't  it  spelled  funny? 
— become  engaged,  that  is,  everything  here  will  be 
all  right.  Mummy  thought  it  certainly  would,  some 
day,  come  to  pass.  I  wish  it  would;  soot  means  sweet, 
Etienne,  did  you  know  that?" 

97 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"Yes,  Janey,"  said  Etienne  gravely,  and  the  child 
leaving  us  I  was  led  upstairs. 

"I  have  had  your  old  room  turned  into  a  boudoir," 
said  Mr.  Rappelle,  opening  the  door  for  me  to  enter. 
"I  hope  you  may  like  it." 

The  dingy  room  was  transformed;  it  had  become 
a  dainty  bower.  I  expressed  my  admiration. 

"I  notice  that  you  rarely  wear  your  diamonds," 
he  continued,  "perhaps  these  pearls  may  please  you 
better,"  motioning  toward  a  jewel  box,  beautifully 
inlaid,  that  lay  upon  the  toilet-table. 

I  had  been  far  from  happy  before,  but  the  long  rope 
of  splendid  pearls  this  box  contained  filled  my  cup  to 
the  brim.  I  had  difficulty  in  thanking  the  giver  prop- 
erly. 

"Now  I  think  of  it,  Theo,  your  diamonds  are  set  in 
gold;  they  ought  to  be  in  silver,  seeing  you  are  in 
mourning.  I  will  have  them  reset.  Stupid  of  me 
not  to  have  had  them  done  so  in  the  first  place !  Is  that 
the  reason  the  opal  never  appears;  is  it  too  gay?" 

"Yes,"  I  said;  then  summoning  up  my  courage, 
"Please  don't  give  me  any  more,  Etienne." 

"Any  more  what?" 

"Jewels;  I  have  so  many  already."  My  collection 
was  very  large;  Etienne  added  to  it  constantly. 

"I  am  sorry  if  you  don't  like  your  pearls,"  he  said 
coolly,  "but  I  must  ask  you  to  let  me  see  them  often." 

Before  I  had  time  to  say  how  much  I  admired  them 
— this  truthfully,  for  they  were  beautiful — he  flung 
wide  the  door  leading  into  what  had  been  Lydia's 
room.  I  hardly  recognized  the  heavy  mahogany  furni- 
ture against  its  new  background  of  rose-strewn  hang- 
ings. 

"I  like  roses,  as  you  see,"  said  Etienne,  "and  I 
trust  my  arrangement  of  your  rooms  may  meet  with 
your  approval." 

He  ceased  speaking  and  waited,  expectant.  I 
98 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

made  an  effort  to  voice  my  appreciation  cordially,  but 
his  expression  told  me  I  had  failed. 

"Do  you  like  milk?"  he  asked  suddenly. 

"What,  Etienne  ?"    Was  I  going  crazy — or  he  ? 

He  repeated  his  question,  and  he  looked  cross. 

"Why— yes,"  I  faltered. 

"Then  in  Heaven's  name  drink  it.  That  woman 
said  you  needed  it.  Is  it  because  I  pay  for  the  food 
that  you  are  starving  yourself?  Really,  Theo,  you 
are  enough  to  drive  a  man  mad!" 

I  quite  agreed  with  him,  so  held  my  tongue. 

"There,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  fiercely.  "I 
have  been  rude;  I  am  sorry." 

"Oh,  not  at  all,"  I  answered  lamely,  being,  as  Jane 
would  have  said,  completely  off  my  head. 

The  next  moment  he  had  left  the  room,  unable,  I 
fancied,  to  endure  my  idiocy  longer. 

I  returned  to  my  new  boudoir,  rebelling  against 
fate.  The  sight  of  the  pearls  on  the  dressing-table 
made  my  heart  sick.  During  the  few  hours  given  me 
for  thought,  before  my  marriage,  I  had  failed  to  take 
into  consideration  the  luxury  I  should  myself  have  to 
accept.  Janey  needed  all  that  wealth  could  give,  I 
had  told  myself,  and  poor  Lilian  was  utterly  unfitted 
by  nature  for  earning  her  bread.  Of  my  share,  my 
personal  share  of  the  Rappelle  millions,  I  had,  stupidly, 
failed  to  think.  It  had  descended  upon  my  shoulders 
heavily,  a  weight  both  day  and  night;  driving  peace 
from  my  soul  and  sleep  from  my  pillow;  making  tears 
come  more  readily  than  laughter. 

An  intense  desire  to  escape,  if  only  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, took  possession  of  me.  Ah,  thank  Heaven,  I 
might  take  refuge  in  the  Cell  of  Flagellation;  that, 
at  least,  must  be  bare  of  adornment,  free  of  the  Rap- 
pelle gold.  I  touched  the  secret  spring,  the  panel  slid 
aside — I  did  not  enter. 

The  rough  stones  of  the  floor  were  hidden  by  an 
99 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

oriental  rug,  soft-colored,  velvety;  on  the  opposite  wall 
hung  an  ivory  cross,  richly  carved;  beneath  it  a  prie- 
dieu,  furnished  with  embroidered  velvet  cushions;  on 
the  hand-rest  a  prayer  book,  with  cover  of  ivory  and 
clasps  of  silver.  As  I  stood  staring  at  this  destruction 
of  my  only  refuge  there  came  a  tap  at  the  door.  It 
was  Hervey  Merle.  He  looked  wistful  and  dejected. 

Sorry  for  the  disappointment  he  had  had  in  not 
being  permitted  to  show  me  the  changes  wrought,  I 
invited  him  to  enter. 

"See,  Hervey,"  I  said,  taking  up  his  bouquet,  that 
lay,  forgotten,  beside  the  pearls,  "I  have  been  too  busy 
looking  at  all  the  pretty  new  things  to  put  these  in 
water." 

"The  oratory,  Mrs.  Rappelle,"  glancing  into  the 
cell— "it  pleases?" 

"It  is  your  doing,  Hervey?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Kappelle." 

"You  have  shown  great  taste,"  I  said  gently.  The 
thing  was  done,  why  make  the  kind  little  man  mis- 
erable ? 

"Nymph  in  thine  orations,  which  in  cold  weather, 
Mrs.  Kappelle,  if  long,  a  little  oil-stove — it  looks  like 
silver,  carved,  matching  the  clasps  of  the  book,  and 
being  silvery,  subdued,  more  fitting  to  religious  pur- 
poses than  gold — Mrs.  Rappelle?" 

"Yes,  Hervey." 

He  hesitated,  looked  miserable,  then  said: 

"Speech  is  silver,  of  course,  but  silence,  when  you 
don't  want  to  tell,  is  above  rubies — and  she  was  home- 
sick for  the  mountains,  'My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,' 
and  in  her  work,  too,  they  tell  me,  excellent  references 
— Mrs.  Rappelle,  give  a  dog  a  bad  name  and  every  boy 
throws  the  first  stone — still  you  didn't  want  one,  Mr. 
Rappelle,  he  insisted — damned  considerable,  begging 
your  pardon,  when  he  heard  Miss  Lilian  had  and  you 
hadn't.  Let  sleeping  dogs  sleep  on,  but — she's  Swiss, 

100 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

Mrs.  Rappelle,  name  Josette,  she's  coming  now,  I 
think " 

A  sweet-faced  maid  stood  in  the  doorway.  I  under- 
stood Hervey's  rambling  speech.  I  preferred  waiting 
upon  myself,  still 

"Come  in,  Josette,"  I  said,  "you  are  just  in  time 
to  help  me  dress  for  dinner."  Then,  aside  to  Hervey, 
pale  and  ill  at  ease,  "I  am  not  displeased,  Hervey. 
What  a  nice,  modest-looking  girl!  I  know  I  shall 
like  her." 

"Dear  lady — "  poor  Hervey  commenced,  but  un- 
able to  get  further,  went  hastily  out  of  the  room. 

Anxious  to  avoid  Etienne's  displeasure  I  made  a 
grand  toilet,  wearing,  as  its  finishing  touch,  the  new 
pearls.  Hervey's  lilies  adorned  hair  and  corsage. 

"Pearls!"  exclaimed  Lilian,  whom  I  found  alone 
in  the  drawing-room.  "What  perfect  ones,  and  what 
a  lot  of  them.  But  the  man's  a  fool!  They'll  bring 
awful  luck.  First  comes  home  in  May,  then  these 
pearls!  Really,  Theo,  it's  too  much.  Oh,  here  he 
comes.  Dear  Etienne,"  smiling  gently  at  her  brother- 
in-law,  "how  exquisite  these  pearls  are!  I  was  just 
telling  Theo  that  you  spoil  her.  They  suit  her  though, 
to  perfection.  We  mustn't  tell  her  how  handsome  she 
looks  in  them,  must  we  ?  Did  you  suggest  those  lilies 
in  her  hair?" 

"I  think  a  kind  wish  to  please  Merle  suggested 
them."  Etienne  spoke  slowly,  looking  at  me  so  stead- 
ily that  my  eyes  fell.  "I  am  right,  Theo?"  he  asked, 
as  we  went  in  to  dinner. 

"Hervey  is  always  so  nice  to  me,"  I  said,  accepting 
the  apology  that  I  believed  lay  in  both  words  and 
manner.  I  bore  him  no  grudge  for  his  moment  of 
anger  upstairs — he  had  been  sorely  tried. 

Hervey,  who,  since  his  master's  marriage,  had  given 
up  the  duties  of  valet  to  assume  those  of  house-steward 
and  butler,  was  waiting  in  the  dining-room.  As 

101 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

Etienne  led  me  to  a  chair  on  one  side  of  the  table, 
Hervey  drew  out  one  at  the  other.    I  paused  in  doubt. 

"The  draught  from  the  window,  sir,"  said  Hervey 
gently.  "Mrs.  Rappelle  had  better  sit  here." 

"There  is  more  there,"  said  Etienne.  "It  will  come 
directly  on  her  shoulder,  from  the  door." 

"Which  shall  be  shut,"  closing  it.  "Here,  please, 
Mrs.  Rappelle." 

"You  can't  keep  the  pantry-door  shut.  Sit  here, 
Theo." 

"The  screen,  sir,  prevents  that  being  felt.  This  will 
be  best,  Mrs.  Rappelle." 

The  scene  had  become  ridiculous.  The  two  men, 
each  grasping  firmly  the  back  of  his  chosen  chair,  eyed 
each  other  angrily.  Another  moment  and  I  should 
disgrace  myself  by  wild  laughter.  Fortunately  I  sud- 
denly realized  that  the  table  was  round,  and  saw  my 
way  of  escape. 

"I  will  sit  here,"  I  said,  moving  to  a  chair  directly  in 
front  of  the  chimney-piece  over  which  hung  the  por- 
trait of  Old  Vivian's  unprincipled  wife,  "here,  under 
my  noble  ancestress,  the  Lady  Sophia  Braithe."  Then, 
the  Braithe  demon,  as  if  summoned  by  her  name, 
taking  possession  of  me,  I  added,  casting  down  my 
eyes  and  speaking  very  demurely,  "Perhaps  I  may 
grow  to  be  like  her  in  time.  If  you  will  take  the  place 
opposite,  Etienne,  you  may  amuse  your  conservative 
fancy  by  imagining  yourself  the  first  Vivian,  the 
builder  of  this  Braithe." 

Before  he  had  time  to  reply  Lilian  had  rushed  into 
fluent  speech,  and  during  the  hour  of  dinner  she  and 
Janey — who  had  been  allowed  to  sit  up,  in  honor  of 
the  home-coming — kept  the  ball  of  conversation  rolling 
gayly.  Later,  when  I  went  upstairs  to  kiss  Jane  good- 
night, she  had  still  more  to  say. 

"O  Theo,  do  you  think  Etienne  will  send  Hervey 
away?" 

102 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

"Why  should  he?" 

"Well,  you  saw  them  at  dinner.  Dear  me,  how 
funny  they  looked!  I  was  sorry — and  a  little  fright- 
ened, but  for  all  that,  I  thought  I'd  bust,  I  wanted  to 
laugh  so.  You  did,  too,  your  eyes  just  sparkled !  But 
in  the  library,  before  that,  gracious,  how  they  had  it! 
'You  should  know  her  tastes  by  this  time,'  says  Etienne 
(I'd  got  as  far  as  the  door,  but  I  didn't  dare  go  in). 
'I  hope  you've  ordered  a  dinner  that  will  suit  her/ 
'If  ambrosia  and  nectar,'  answers  Hervey,  'were  cried 
on  the  market-place,  Mrs.  Rappelle  should  have  them 
if  the  martial  cloak  to  my  back  went  for  their  pur- 
chase.' 'Hum,'  (you  know  what  I  mean,  Theo,  it 
begins  with  a  D,  but  I  mustn't  say  it),  'Hum  your 
martial  cloak,'  says  Etienne,  and  he  looked  so  cross  I 
ran  away." 

•    When  I  returned  to  the  drawing-room  Lilian  at- 
tacked me. 

"I  was  sorry  for  you  because  you  had  to  sleep  in 
Lydia's  ghastly  room — I  might  better  say  in  the 
morgue,  for  everybody  has  died  there — but  now  I'm 
glad,  yes,  glad !  Going  on  as  you've  been  doing !  Set- 
ting those  two  fools  at  loggerheads  and  then — really 
you've  no  conscience,  Theo — then  letting  all  your 
dimples  come  and  flushing  up.  Oh,  I've  no  patience 
with  you!" 

That  night,  turning  back  a  corner  of  the  rich  rug, 
and  kneeling  on  the  hard  cold  stones.  I  prayed  long  in 
my  Cell  of  Flagellation  for  forgiveness  for  my  proud 
heart,  my  too-ready  tongue,  and  my  many,  many  faults 
and  weaknesses.  I  begged  that  I  might  learn  how  to 
gain  the  respect  of  the  man  to  whom  we  owed  so  much, 
without  losing  my  own  dignity.  There  had  been  no 
scorn  in  his  eyes  that  whole  day — if  only  I  might  see 
in  them  honest,  friendly  approval. 

A  resentful  whimper  outside  the  panel  roused  me 
from  my  devotions.  I  rose,  and  admitted  the  Cheva- 

103 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

Her.  His  pleasure  in  the  changes  of  the  cell  was  ex- 
pressed by  wagging  tail  and  smiling  eyes.  Turning 
around  and  around  in  the  middle  of  the  soft  rug  he 
finally  settled  himself  with  a  thump,  and  grunted  his 
contentment. 

"Charles  Stuart,  pampered  lap-dog,  you  grow  over- 
fat!"  I  said  severely. 

He  blinked  one  eye  at  me  drowsily,  then  went  to 
sleep. 


104 


xn 

We  were  alone  at  Braithe  but  a  few  days  only, 
Monsieur  Randoce  joining  us  almost  immediately  in 
order  to  continue  his  work  upon  my  portrait,  and  our 
party  being  still  further  enlarged  by  the  introduction 
of  a  family  chaplain,  in  the  person  of  a  very  young 
clergyman  just  ordained.  If  I  liked  this  Mr.  Brace, 
he  was  to  remain  with  us  until  he  got  the  offer  of  a 
good  living  elsewhere.  And  I  promised  myself  to 
be  pleased  with  him  since  he  was  very  poor,  and  had  a 
mother  in  the  background  who  needed  help.  He  had 
had  charge  of  restoring  the  chapel  during  our  absence. 

Lilian  laughed  at  Etienne's  desire  to  return  to  the 
old  customs,  but  I  was  very  glad  that  the  chapel  was 
to  be  used  again,  and  that  we  were  to  have  a  chaplain 
living  in  the  house. 

Mr.  Brace  came  to  us  the  day  after  our  arrival;  a 
fair-haired  little  fellow,  painfully  shy. 

"You  know  that  joke,"  said  Janey,  who  took  a  deep 
interest  in  him,  "about  never  opening  your  mouth  but 
you  put  your  foot  in  it  ?  Mr.  Brace  is  the  man.  When 
he  doesn't  talk  I  wish  he  would,  and  when  he  does  I 
wish  he  wouldn't.  He  seems  good,  but — he  worries 
me!" 

Mr.  Brace  did  not  worry  me,  but  Monsieur  Kandoce 
did,  since  he  pretended — I  could  not  believe  he  was 
in  earnest — to  be  in  love  with  me.  One  discomfort, 
however,  his  French  training  led  him  to  spare  me ;  that 
of  keeping  up  his  air  of  devotion  before  Etienne.  Hus- 
bands, according  to  his  ethics,  were  to  be  deceived.  I 

105 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

soon  saw  that  he  believed  my  silent  role  to  have  been 
assumed  for  the  same  reason  as  his  polite  indifference, 
and  I  ought  to  have  been  angry,  but  he  was  so  comical 
that  amusement  destroyed  my  vexation. 

During  the  last  week  in  June  an  unexpected  visitor 
arrived  at  Braithe. 

I  was  in  my  boudoir  late  one  afternoon  embroider- 
ing, when  Lilian  came  in,  looking  very  unhappy.  The 
weather  was  already  that  of  July,  hot  midsummer 
weather,  and  a  thunder-storm  was  brewing.  Big  sullen 
clouds  sailed  overhead,  messengers  from  the  dunder- 
bergs  that  had  peeped  at  us,  over  the  western  hills,  all 
the  morning. 

"Embroidering?  O  Theo,  how  idiotic!"  said  Lilian 
fretfully,  throwing  herself  down  upon  the  lounge  as 
she  spoke.  "Lightning  may  come  any  minute  now." 

She  wore  a  white  dressing-gown,  covered  with  lace, 
and  her  pretty  hair  rippled  over  her  shoulders.  Her 
pretty  face  wore  lines  of  discontent. 

"Do  put  down  your  needle,  Theo,"  she  continued. 
"Why  you  want  to  sew,  when  you  don't  have  to,  beats 
me !  If  you  go  on  in  the  way  you've  been  doing  lately, 
however,  I  suppose  we'll  all  have  to  grovel  in  the  dirt 
again.  Perhaps  that's  the  reason  you  don't  care  if  you 
are  struck  dead — or  blind." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  asked,  putting  away  my 
work  as  she  had  desired. 

"Oh,  you  know  well  enough!  Etienne's  caving. 
When  I  saw  him  lugging  home  that  great  bottle  of 
tonic-stuff  the  day  after  we  got  here — really,  Theo, 
it's  positively  sickening  the  row  he  makes  about  your 
lack  of  appetite;  watching  you  at  table,  and  running 
after  you  when  you  pretend  to  forget  your  dose." 

"Nonsense,  Lilian,  that's  not  true,"  I  said,  coloring 
deeply  with  displeasure. 

"Sends  Hervey  then ;  it  amounts  to  the  same  thing — 
I  wish  you'd  happen  to  see  them  once,  cracking  their 

106 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

skulls  together  trying  who  can  grab  the  bottle  first. 
Well,  I  hope  you'll  be  satisfied  when  you've  got  di- 
vorced, and  we're  living  on  a  miserly  alimony  in  a 
squalid  country  town;  for  that's  what  we're  coming 
to,  you  mark  my  words !  You've  grown  so  accustomed 
to  being  free  that  you  forget  you're  married,  but  he 
doesn't,  although  he  has  spoiled  you  so  outrageously, 
and  when  you  get  him  to  the  boiling  point — he's  more 
than  tepid  now — it'll  be  wife,  or  no  wife,  and  a 
'Madam,  take  your  choice/  I  know  you,  Theo,  you're 
as  stubborn  as  ten  mules.  You're  a  real  Braithe — you 
won't  give  in.  You  won't  think  of  me  or  Jane,  for 
with  you  it's  always  self,  self,  self!" 

"If  you  find  me  so  disagreeable,"  I  said,  losing  my 
temper  because  of  this  undeserved  rebuke,  and  wound- 
ed by  her  heartlessness,  "why  do  you  come  in  here?" 

"That's  right,  turn  me  from  your  door,  and  at 
the  moment  when  misfortune's  close  upon  me,"  she 
whimpered.  "Look  at  that,"  drawing  a  beautiful  tur- 
quoise— her  natal  stone,  a  present  from  Etienne — f rom 
her  finger,  "look  at  that,  and  dare  tell  me  it  isn't  turn- 
ing green!" 

I  took  the  ring  to  the  window,  for  the  heavy  pall  of 
cloud  was  fast  obscuring  the  light,  and  examined  it 
carefully.  As  Lilian  had  said,  the  stone  had  a  faint 
greenish  tint.  I  looked  inside  the  setting,  and  saw 
what  appeared  to  be  a  tiny  particle  of  soap. 

"Why,  you've  been  washing  your  hands  with  it  on!" 
I  exclaimed. 

"Well,  anyone  might  have  known  that,"  said  Lilian 
pettishly.  "What's  that  got  to  do  with  it,  pray?" 

"Why  call  carelessness  bad  luck?"  I  asked.  "You 
knew  water  would  turn  the  stone  green." 

"Bad  luck  is  coming,"  said  Lilian  solemnly,  "or 
Etienne  wouldn't  have  given  me  the  stone  of  my 
month,  my  luck  stone,  in  a  ring.  That  was  the  first 
sign.  Of  course  I  forgot  to  take  it  off  when  I  ought  j 

107 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

that  was  the  second  sign.  The  third  was  its  change  of 
color.  Now  comes  misfortune." 

She  drew  her  handkerchief  from  her  pocket  as  she 
spoke,  and  with  it  a  letter,  which  fell  to  the  floor.  I 
picked  it  up  and  recognized  the  handwriting. 

"Bertie  Fayne!"  I  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  Bertie  Fayne,"  said  Lilian,  snatching  the  let- 
ter from  my  hand.  "What  does  he  say?  Nothing,  as 
usual.  Now  don't  poke  and  pry,  Theo.  He  sends  his 
love  to  you,  and  a  lot  of  rot  about  childhood-memories, 
and  so  forth.  I  wish  he'd  write  to  you  instead  of  me ; 
I'm  not  interested  in  him,  goodness  knows!" 

I  asked  no  questions,  although  I  wished  very  much 
to  know  where  Herbert  was,  and  what  he  was  doing. 
Somehow  since  my  marriage  I  had  thought  often  of 
my  old  playfellow,  who  had  taken  no  notice  of  it,  or 
of  me.  I  had  fancied  that,  my  father  being  gone,  he 
would  wish  to  revisit  Braithe  and  renew  his  old  inti- 
macy. This  was  the  first  letter  Lilian  had,  to  my 
knowledge,  received  from  him  since  I  had  become 
Theodora  Rappelle.  What  did  he  think  of  this  odd 
change  of  masters  at  Braithe?  Of  the  great-grandson 
of  our  great-great-great-grandfather's  henchman  be- 
coming Lord  of  the  Manor — and  of  the  Head  of  the 
Braithes  ? 

"Anyone  but  Etienne,"  said  Lilian,  breaking  in 
upon  my  musings  with  fresh  complaints,  "would  have 
had  enough  sdbe  to  have  thought  of  that,  and  have 
given  me  something  else.  A  pendant,  say,  or  a  brace- 
let." 

"You  chose  a  ring  yourself,"  I  said,  indig- 
nant. "Etienne  told  me  to  ask  you  which  you  would 
prefer ;  and  you  might  have  had  the  pendant,  or  the 
bracelet." 

"I  dare  say  you  suggested  those  miserable  little 
things,  Theo,  when  all  the  time  you  knew  perfectly 
well  I  wanted  a  necklace.  But  no,  Mrs.  Rappelle 

108 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

must  have  diamonds,  and  pearls,  and  necklaces;  and  I, 
I  am  only  Miss  Braithe;  turquoises  are  good  enough 
for  her!  She's  not  the  wife  of  a  rich  grocer.  No, 
thank  God,  I'm  not;  I'm  a  Braithe  of  Braithe!" 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Janey,  thrusting  in  her 
golden  head. 

"Nothing,  Pet,"  I  said  quickly.  "Come  in  and 
bring  the  Chevalier." 

"He's  agitated,"  said  Jane.  "Come,  Charles  Stuart! 
Him  feels  the  thunder  in  his  boneses,  poor  chappie! 
Come  to  his  Theo,  and  tell  her  all  about  it!" 

The  poor  Chevalier,  nervous  and  careworn,  slunk 
into  the  room,  seated  himself  firmly  on  a  fold  of  my 
gown,  and  shivered  violently.  Thunder  storms  were 
an  agony  to  him ;  during  them  he  spent  his  time  seek- 
ing safety  under  my  bed,  and  scrambling  out  again  to 
see  if  Janey  and  I  still  lived.  Driven  by  extreme  ter- 
ror to  leave  us,  his  sheep,  his  collie  soul.was  wrung  by 
our  peril,  and  conscience  would  not  allow  him  to  desert 
us  utterly. 

Lilian,  angry  at  the  entrance  of  the  others,  flounced 
from  the  room. 

"I'm  glad  she's  gone,"  said  Jane,  climbing  up  on  my 
lap.  "She's  turned  the  corners  down,"  touching  my 
lips  with  loving  fingers,  "and  they'd  begun  to  stay  up 
all  the  time  again.  That's  because  I've  been  keeping, 

'  Sandalphon,  the  Angel  of  Glory, 
Sandalphon,  the  Angel  of  Prayer  ;' 

busy  lately,  carrying  mine  in  to  God.  'Not  in  gar- 
lands of  purple  and  red,  please,  Great  Angel,'  I  said, 
'but  just  the  prayers,  straight  off,  as  I  say  them.'  I've 
always  thought,"  said  the  child,  looking  dreamily  out 
of  the  window  at  the  darkening  landscape,  "I've  al- 
ways thought  Sandalphon  did  a  queer  thing,  jumbling 
up  everybody's  prayers  into  wreaths  that  way.  Still," 
sighing,  "I  suppose  he  has  to  obey  orders,  and  he 

109 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

needs  something  to  cheer  him,  like  flowers,  standing 
up  to  his  knees  in  corpses  all  the  time." 

"Janey!" 

"It  says  so,  Theo. 

'  Among  the  dead  angels,  the  deathless 
Sandalphon  stands  listening  breathless, ' 

Just  like  poor  Charles  Stuart  listening  for  the  first 
peal  of  thunder,"  said  Janey  calmly,  "and  it  can't  be 
pleasant  for  the  Angel.  Yes,  I've  prayed  to  God  him- 
self to  make  you  happy,  Theo;  to  God  himself,  who 
put  us  all  here,  and  not  to  poor  Christ  the  Lord,  who 
tries  to  straighten  out  the  Almighty's  mistakes.  I 
suppose  it  was  hard  making  a  world  for  the  first  time, 
hurrying  about  it  so,  too,  getting  it  all  done  in  a  week, 
and  then  beginning  it  with  a  Jew  family — such  a  queer 
start  off!  No,  I  shan't  bother  Jesus;  all  children  are 
doing  it  incessantly,  with  their: 

'  Gentle  Jesus,  meek  and  mild, 
Listen  to  a  little  child.' 

And  besides  them,  widows,  and  orphans,  and  big  men- 
sinners  scared  of  God.  People  are  mean  to  Jesus 
Christ,  yes,  hateful  and  mean,  at  him  all  the  time  just 
because  he's  sweet  and  good.  No,  I  pray  to  God,  and 
I  guess  He'll  feel  He  must  pay  some  attention  to  a 
hunchbacked-orphan-child !" 

"Kind  little  sister,  to  pray  for  me,"  I  said  gently, 
stroking  her  beautiful  golden  hair,  and  feeling  power- 
less to  cope  with  her  strange  fancies.  How  might  I 
dare  to  question  what  prayers  flew  straight  to  the  great 
All-Father?  What  was  I  but  a  faulty  creature  by  the 
side  of  this  pure-hearted  little  child?  Surely  her 
prayers  had  brought  me  peace,  for  since  our  return  to 
Braithe  I  had  read  only  respect  in  Etienne  Rappelle's 
watchful  eyes. 

"Etienne's  so  funny!"  said  Janey  suddenly.  "Her- 
110 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

vey,  too.  Etienne  treats  you  as  if  you  were  a  bird 
with  a  broken  wing,  and  Hervey — "  the  child  began  to 
laugh — "  'Hervey,'  I  said,  t'other  day,  'my  sister  Theo 
is  the  apple  of  your  eye.'  'She  is,  Miss  Janey,'  says 
Hervey,  'let  any  mote  or  beam  dare  dart  therein  and 
I'll  pluck  'em  out  and  show  'em  accordingly.'  Hush  1 
What  was  that?  Thunder?" 

Charles  Stuart's  toenails  were  distinctly  heard  as, 
darting  into  the  adjoining  room,  he  clawed  his  hasty 
way  under  the  bed.  A  gentle  knock  at  the  door,  and 
Hervey  entered. 

"Mr.  Rappelle's  compliments  to  Miss  Jane,  and  will 
she  favor  him  with  a  game  of  euchre,  in  the  library? 
The  shutters  there,"  confidentially,  "are  closed,  and 
the  lamps  burn  brightly."  Then,  as  Janey  ran  away, 
"Miss  Jane  is  a  trifle  timid,  though,  through  pride 
fearing  a  fall  in  the  loss  of  others'  estimation,  will  let 
the  fox  gnaw  on  at  any  point.  And,"  moving  toward 
the  window,  "seeing  you  can't  tell  where  the  lightning 
will  strike  a  man  dumb,  or  lady  either,  I'll  close  the 
shutters." 

Having  accomplished  this  task,  and  lighted  the 
candles  on  my  dressing-table,  Hervey  stood  gazing 
reflectively  at  me,  his  head  on  one  side,  his  odd  dep- 
recatory smile  playing  about  his  lips. 

"When  first  I  came,"  he  said  musingly,  "I  thought 
'twould  be  damp,  but  now,  thinking  of  that  appalling 
disaster,  I'm  glad  it's  stone.  Stone  walls  do  not  a 
prison  make,  nor  iron  bars  a  good  fire-escape  when 
heated  red-hot  to  the  touch." 

The  disaster  to  which  Hervey  alluded  had  occurred 
only  the  week  before ;  a  hotel  fire,  in  which  many  had 
lost  their  lives.  The  whole  country  was  mourning  over 
the  sickening  horrors  of  the  holocaust. 

"They  say  now,"  Hervey  continued,  "  'twas  set  on 
fire  by  thieves.  Put  not  your  trust  in  men,  for  some 
are  devils,  nor  set  a  thief  to  catch  these  same,  but  an 

111 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

honest  man,  who  can  see  through  the  eye  of  a  needle 
in  a  haystack.  I'd  like  to  have  the  roasting  of  them 
under  the  greenwood  tree,  seeing  it  burns  slowly,  and 
dry  wood  don't.  Ah,  what  a  peal  was  that!"  as  the 
thunder  suddenly  crashed  over  Braithe.  "Did  I  hear 
carriage  wheels,  Mrs.  Rappelle?"  And  he  ran  down- 
stairs. 

I  followed,  going  half-way  down  to  listen.  The  next 
moment  a  tall,  handsome  man  stood  in  the  brightly 
lighted  hall,  and  I,  running  to  meet  him,  both  hands 
outstretched  in  welcome,  cried,  in  a  voice  where  tears 
and  laughter  mingled: 

"Bertie!   Oh,  Bertie  Fayne!" 

What  to  me  that  lightning  flashed  and  thunder 
roared,  or  that  the  floodgates  of  heaven  seemed  opened ! 
I  paid  no  attention  to  the  terrible  violence  of  the 
storm,  as  I  looked  up  through  tear-dimmed  eyes,  and 
with  happy  smiles,  at  my  old  playmate,  who,  for  the 
moment,  had  brought  back  •  my  childhood.  He 
was  as  glad,  apparently,  to  see  me  again.  We  stood 
in  the  centre  of  the  great  hall,  laughing,  shaking 
hands,  exclaiming,  as  though  we  were  both  as 
young  and  jubilant  as  when  we  had  parted,  years 
before. 

"You  have  changed  very  little,"  I  said  at  last,  "save 
that  you  have  grown  very  tall,  and  your  hair  is  a 
trifle  darker. 

"I've  changed  more  inside,"  he  said,  with  his  sunny 
smile.  "The  seed  you  laboriously  planted — a  grain 
of  mustard  seed,  wasn't  it? — has  sprouted  vigorously. 
But,  dear  me,  Theo,  what  a  beauty  you  are !  A  regu- 
lar out-and-outer,  as  we  used  to  say.  Are  you  as 
strict  a  Puritan  as  ever  ?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Not  for  others,"  I  said.  "I  hope  I  have  grown 
more  tolerant.  But  where  is  your  trunk?" 

I  was  told  that  my  cousin  had  proposed  putting  up 
112 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

at  the  Gills'.  Then,  seeing  his  face  change  suddenly, 
I  turned,  to  find  Etienne  approaching,  with  Janey, 
from  the  library.  My  gay  spirits  fell  as  quickly  as 
they  had  risen,  and,  as  I  went  through  the  ceremony 
of  introduction,  I  ceased  to  be  Theo  Braithe,  and  be- 
came Mrs.  Etienne  Rappelle. 

The  two  men  presented  a  marked  contrast  as  they 
stood,  facing  each  other,  before  the  great  chimney. 
Herbert  Fayne's  brilliant  beauty  made  Etienne's  dark 
face  look  almost  grim  in  its  stern,  square  outlines,  and, 
as  Etienne  was  of  medium  height,  Herbert's  inches 
caused  him  to  appear  short.  But  his  greeting  to  his 
wife's  cousin  was  perfect,  and  showed  that  he  knew 
how  to  mingle  stateliness  with  cordiality. 

He  would  not  hear  of  Herbert  leaving  us  for  the 
Gills,  but  begged  him  to  make  Braithe  his  headquar- 
ters. Herbert  accepted,  with  his  old  boyish  grace 
of  manner  and  then,  detecting  Janey  hiding  in  the 
background,  demanded  an  introduction.  The  child 
hung  back,  always  shy  about  meeting  strangers,  be- 
cause of  her  misfortune. 

"Please  come  and  make  friends  with  me,"  pleaded 
Herbert,  in  his  sweet  voice.  "I've  heard  so  much 
about  my  little  cousin  Janey." 

"Very  well,"  said  Jane,  slowly  advancing  from  her 
corner,  "then  I  might  as  well  get  it  over  at  once.  I'm 
rather  a  shock  to  people,  Cousin  Herbert,  as  a  general 
thing,  and  like  to  let  them  down  easy." 

She  shook  hands  gravely,  but  drew  back  when  he 
offered  to  kiss  her. 

"We'd  better  wait  to  see  how  we  get  on,  first,"  she 
said  solemnly,  "before  going  as  far  as  that." 

"I'm  sorry  I  don't  please  you  better,"  said  Her- 
bert plaintively. 

"It's  not  your  fault,  Cousin  Herbert.  You  can't 
help  looking  like  Old  Vivian,  and  having  father's  voice, 
any  more  than  I  can  help  having  a  crooked  spine.  Ap- 

113 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

pearances  don't  amount  to  much,  they  say,  but — 
somehow — we  have  to  get  used  to  'em." 

Charles  Stuart,  rushing  down  the  stairs  at  this 
juncture,  created  a  happy  diversion.  To  be  sure,  up- 
set by  the  storm,  he  failed  to  recognize  Herbert  as  a 
guest,  and  showed  a  lively  desire  to  turn  him  from 
the  door.  Janey,  shocked  by  this  gross  lack  of  hos- 
pitality, cuffed  the  Chevalier,  and  made  him  apolo- 
gize by  giving  his  paw,  which  he  did  with  much  sup- 
pressed growling,  and  intense  unwillingness. 

"The  thunder  distracts  him,"  said  Janey.  "I'm 
sorry  he's  so  rude.  Go  upstairs,  Charles  Stuart,  and 
pray  for  forgiveness  under  Theo's  bed."  The  Cheva- 
lier obeyed  with  suspicious  alacrity.  "It's  the  only 
place  that  soothes  his  nerves,"  explained  Jane  gravely, 
"and  I  suppose  we  all  have  our  moments  of  savagery." 

It  was  high  time  to  dress  for  dinner,  so  Janey  and 
I  went  upstairs,  she  running  to  tell  the  Chevalier 
that  the  storm  was  passing,  and  I  to  inform  Lilian 
of  Herbert's  arrival.  In  this  she  took  small  interest 
apparently,  being  too  much  worried  by  the  change 
in  her  turquoise  to  think  of  anything  else. 

"Go  away,  Marie,"  she  said  to  her  maid,  who  was 
bathing  her  forehead  with  cologne,  "go  away!  I 
want  to  see  Mrs.  Kappelle  alone.  Theo,"  as  the  door 
closed  behind  the  woman,  "go  and  lock  it.  I  want 
you  to  promise  me  something;  now,  at  once,  this  min- 
ute, before  I  go  mad  with  fretting.  Get  my  Testa- 
ment." I  obeyed.  "Now  swear,  by  this  Book,  that 
you  will  never  tell  Etienne,  or  anybody,  anything  I 
may  choose  to  confide  to  your  keeping." 

"I  can't,  Lilian,"  I  said;  "you  might  tell  me  some- 
thing that  concerned  Janey,  or  Etienne,  deeply." 

"Nonsense,  what  a  fool  you  are!  I  mean  my  own 
affairs,  of  course.  What  do  I  care  about  them?  There, 
it's  just  like  you,  after  always  saying  you  never  want 
to  meddle  with  other  people's  lives!  I've  got  a  right 

114 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

to  manage  my  own  affairs  my  own  way,  haven't  I, 
Theo  Braithe?" 

"Yes,  Lilian." 

"Do  you  want  to  go  'round  screeching  my  concerns 
at  the  top  of  your  lungs  to  everybody  ?" 

"No,  Lilian." 

"Then  swear." 

I  yielded,  as  was  my  custom  when  Lilian's  nerves 
were  on  edge ;  I  took  my  oath  to  keep  her  petty,  child- 
ish secrets.  She  dismissed  me  at  once,  saying  she  would 
have  her  dinner  upstairs  and  not  come  down  again. 

"What  shall  I  say  to  Bertie  for  you?"  I  asked. 

"Tell  him  to  go  to  the  devil,"  she  said  crossly. 

I  met  Hervey  as  I  went  downstairs. 

"Where  have  you  put  Mr.  Fayne?"  I  asked. 

"Below,"  he  said,  pointing  downward.  "Bachelor 
room  south  of  front  door,  Mrs.  Rappelle.  He  may 
like  to  meet  the  sun  the  dewy  lawn  upon  in  early 
walks." 

"He  has  grown  up  even  handsomer  than  he  prom- 
ised as  a  boy,"  I  said,  half  to  myself  and  half  to 
Hervey. 

"Humph — all  that  glitters  is  not  broken  glass  bot- 
tles, of  course — still — "  and  Hervey  shook  his  head. 
Evidently  my  kinsman  had  failed  to  please. 

Later,  at  dinner,  I  saw  that  Monsieur  Randoce  was 
not  prepossessed  in  Herbert's  favor,  for  the  ends  of 
the  gay  Frenchman's  mustache  drooped.  Janey  called 
this  mustache  La  Girouette,  since  by  its  upward,  or 
downward  curve,  you  learned  at  once  of  the  good  or 
bad  spirits  of  its  wearer.  Scarcely  had  we  been  at 
table  for  a  half  hour  when  the  tips  of  La  Girouette 
were  dragged  down;  Monsieur  Randoce  had  grown 
melancholy.  Herbert,  on  the  contrary,  was  bright  and 
charming;  and  in  spite  of  Lilian's  absence,  my  en- 
forced silence,  and  the  sulkiness  of  Monsieur  Randoce, 
the  dinner  passed  off  gayly.  When  I  went  to  my  room 

115 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

I  was  far  happier  than  usual;  Herbert's  coming  had 
brought  me  a  new  lightness  of  heart. 

At  two  o'clock  that  night  I  was  aroused  by  hearing 
the  Chevalier — he  slept  in  my  room — snuffing  under 
the  crack  of  my  door.  Thinking  instantly  of  Janey, 
fearing  she  might  be  ill,  I  sprang  from  my  bed,  and 
running  to  the  door  opened  it  quickly.  Charles  Stuart, 
wagging  his  tail,  ran  forward  to  greet  Lilian,  who  was 
stealing  softly  upstairs.  At  sight  of  me  she  looked 
frightened,  but  hastened  to  explain  that,  being  hun- 
gry, she  had  gone  down  to  the  pantry  in  search  of 
food. 

"And  I  wish  I  were  dead!"  she  continued,  begin- 
ning to  cry.  "And  I  want  you  to  come  into  my  room, 
Theo,  and  sleep  with  me  to-night." 


116 


xm 

It  was  long  before  Lilian,  weeping  against  my 
shoulder,  became  calm  enough  to  sleep;  and  when, 
at  last,  her  deep  breathing  told  me  that  her  nervous 
attack  was  over  for  the  time,  her  frequent  low  cries  of 
discomfort  showed  that  her  brain  had  not  found  com- 
plete repose,  even  in  her  heavy  slumber.  I  thought 
the  upset  condition  of  her  nerves  was  due  to  the  state 
of  the  atmosphere — for  the  thunder  growled  all  night 
— and  I  was  glad,  indeed,  when  I  woke  in  the  morn- 
ing, to  find  the  sky  blue  overhead.  Not  that  there 
had  been  a  good  clearing,  for,  as  on  the  day  previous, 
big  dunderbergs  peeped  at  us  from  over  the  western 
hills.  Still  I  hoped  that  a  long  morning  nap  might 
steady  Lilian,  so  I  crept  from  her  room  gently  and 
warned  her  maid  to  let  her  sleep  late. 

Herbert  was  not  at  breakfast.  Hervey  said  that 
he  had  had  an  early  cup  of  coffee,  and  then  pulled 
across  the  river  in  a  light  rowboat.  Neither  was  Mr. 
Brace  visible,  he  having  had  a  summons  from  one  of 
his  poor  people.  Mr.  Brace  had  already  become  a 
factor  for  much  good  among  the  brickmakers'  fami- 
lies, in  the  small  settlement  a  mile  down  the  river. 
Monsieur  Randoce  always  breakfasted  in  his  room; 
so  Etienne,  Janey,  and  I  were  alone. 

Little  Jane  chatted  away  in  her  usual  lively  fashion, 
directing  her  talk  to  Etienne,  as  she  had  grown  ac- 
customed to  obeying  Lilian's  command  not  to  "tempt 
Theo  to  gabble."  Etienne  was  kind  and  attentive  to 
the  child,  as  always;  and,  finding  myself  an  outsider, 
I  became  so  much  absorbed  in  my  own  thoughts  that 
I  started  when,  breakfast  being  over,  Etienne  sud- 

117 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

denly  asked  if  I  would  give  him  a  few  moments  in  the 
library.  I  rose  at  once  and  went  with  him  across  the 
hall.  I  was  much  surprised  to  see  him,  after  we  had 
entered  his  sanctum,  close  the  outer  door  of  baize 
before  he  shut  the  inner  mahogany  one.  This  out- 
side door  meant  "no  admittance"  to  the  household; 
and  I  wondered,  uncomfortably,  what  was  coming. 

The  big  room  looked  pleasant  and  homelike.  Both 
great  windows  stood  wide,  letting  in  the  sweet  morn- 
ing air,  laden  with  the  perfume  of  the  rain-drenched 
flowers  of  the  window-boxes.  From  above  the  chim- 
ney-piece Vivian,  builder  of  our  Braithe,  looked  down 
upon  me,  with  the  eyes  of  his  descendant — Herbert 
Fayne.  The  two  men  were,  certainly,  marvellously 
alike,  I  thought,  as  I  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  great 
room  and  looked  earnestly  up  at  the  portrait.  Yes, 
put  Herbert  in  a  coat  of  black  velvet,  with  ruffled  shirt- 
front  and  powdered  hair;  oblige  him  to  part  with  the 
tawny  mustache  that  hid  his  Grecian  mouth — full- 
lipped,  almost  sneering — and  you  would  have  Old 
Vivian  to  the  life.  Had  Herbert  shaken  off  the 
Braithe  nature,  as  I  so  hoped  ?  Could  he,  with  his 
Braithe  face  ? 

"Theo,"  said  Etienne  gravely,  "I  am  about  to  ask 
a  favor  of  you — but  pray  sit  down." 

He  motioned  me  to  take  the  chair  of  Vivian,  but 
I  moved  toward  the  east  window,  instead.  The  com- 
ing interview  was,  I  saw,  to  be  unpleasant,  and  I  had 
no  desire  to  be  seated.  No,  I  preferred  to  stand  close 
by  the  window,  where  I  might,  now  and  then,  refresh 
myself  with  a  look  at  my  old  friend,  the  river,  flow- 
ing calmly,  grandly,  inland,  with  its  large  message 
from  the  sea.  The  river  might  lend  me  courage,  it 
looked  so  strong.  Etienne  took  up  his  position  on  the 
hearth-rug,  directly  below  my  ancestor's  portrait,  and 
continued: 

"I  wish,  Theo,  to  relinquish  the  part  you  have  as- 
118 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

signed  to  me" — I  turned  from  the  river — "the  part 
of  ogre  and — fool." 

"I  don't  understand,"  I  said  faintly. 

"I  wish  also,"  he  went  on,  paying  no  attention  to 
my  protest,  "to  beg  you  to  drop  the  role  of  Patient 
Grissel.  It  does  not  suit  your  style." 

"Eeally,  Etienne " 

He  interrupted  me  irritably,  almost  fiercely. 

"  Don't  insult  me,  pray,  by  pretending  you  don't 
understand.  When  I'm  not  by  you  are  gay,  talkative. 
When  your  cousin  came,  last  night,  you  were  your- 
self. 'Dear  me!'  said  little  Jane;  'just  listen  to  Theo! 
Who's  come,  I  wonder?  Hear  her  ripple  laugh! 
Doesn't  it  sound  nice  ?  Just  like  old  times.'  I  entered 
the  hall;  what  followed?  Instantly  you  became  the 
repressed,  sad-eyed  creature — but  there — "  he  broke 
off,  was  silent  a  moment,  then  added :  "Will  you  kindly 
inform  me  why  you  wish  me  not  to  know  your  real 
self?  Will  you  tell  me  why  you  are  so  anxious  to 
keep  down  your  natural  manner?  Ah!"  scrutinizing 
me  keenly;  "perhaps  you  fear  I  may  fall  a  victim  to 
your  charms!" 

"Etienne!"  I  cried,  flushing  hotly. 

"So  that  is  it?"  he  spoke  with  bitter  amusement. 
"Yes,  I  see  it  is;  your  face  and  eyes  are  tell-tales, 
Theo.  I  think  you  forget,  my  dear,  that  I  am  not  an 
unfledged  school-boy;  I  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  the 
world.  I  am  forty-two  years  old — perhaps  you  thought 
me  younger?" 

He  stopped  speaking,  he  expected  an  answer.  He 
received  none.  My  indignation  was  rising  under  the 
lash  of  his  irony. 

"Oblige  me  by  telling  me  if  you  knew  my  age?" 

If  I  knew  the  age  of  the  Rappelle!  An  absurd 
question  surely.  Poor  Mr.  Beecham,  I  remembered, 
had  said  Mr.  Rappelle  was  "not  yet  forty" — poor  Mr. 
Beecham  fearing  an  elderly  suitor  might  shock  my 

119 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

girlish  mind!    But  I  had  always  known  everything  I 
could  learn  about  the  Rappelles. 

"Did  you  know,  Theo?" 

I  bowed. 

"Yet  you  thought  me  vulnerable!  Why,  I  am  a 
multi-millionaire,  Theo,  and  have  always  been  con- 
sidered an  excellent  parti.  Many  a  match-making 
mother  has  marked  me  for  her  own.  I  am  grown  a 
very  wary  old  bird,  child,  and  am  not  in  the  least  sus- 
ceptible, I  assure  you." 

I  wondered,  not  for  the  first  time,  if  he  had  ever 
been  very  much  in  love — finding  time  for  this  thought 
even  in  the  midst  of  my  vexation  and  shame.  I  was 
very  much  ashamed. 

"So  you  see,"  he  went  on,  slowly,  "you  may  set  your 
mind  at  rest  about  me — and  my  heart.  Having  never 
experienced  the  grand  passion,  I  may  hope  to  escape  it 
altogether.  But  you  are  very  handsome,  and  it  was 
only  natural,  after  all,  that  you  should  judge  real  men 
by  the  heroes  of  fiction.  I  ought  to  be  grateful  for 
your  desire  not  to  place  me  in  the  wretched  position  of 
an  unloved  lover." 

I,  naturally,  made  no  comment. 

"From  now  on,  Theo,  I  shall  ask  you  to  forget  me — 
and  my  susceptible  heart — and  to  enjoy  yourself  after 
your  own  fashion.  But  let  me  beg  you  to  sit  down; 
there  are  several  other  things  I  wish  to  speak  about." 
He  dragged  forward  the  great  armchair  of  Old  Vivian, 
and  again  motioned  me  to  seat  myself  in  it. 

"No,  please,  Etienne,"  I  said,  gently,  "that  is  your 
chair  now."  I  did  not  add  that  I  detested  it,  it  being 
difficult  to  drop  my  old  role  at  once. 

"On  the  contrary,"  he  said,  coldly,  "it  is  all  your 
own,  as  the  eldest  living  Braithe." 

"How  lovely  these  roses  are!"  I  said,  and  going  to 
the  table  I  bent  over  an  old  green  punch-bowl,  heaped 
full  of  fragrant  beauties. 

120 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"Yes,"  he  assented,  "roses  are  always — beau- 
tiful." 

"Beautiful,  indeed!"  I  murmured;  then,  turning  a 
little,  so  that  I  could  look  into  the  eyes  of  the  strange 
man  standing  by  the  great  carved  armchair,  the  man 
who  was  so  sure  he  was  invulnerable,  I  laid  my  cheek 
lightly  against  the  roses — the  deep  red,  the  pale  pink, 
the  creamy  roses — that  filled  the  old  green  bowl  almost 
to  overflowing,  and  added  dreamily,  "Leaves  of  vel- 
vet, fragrant  velvet,  soft — summer-scented  1  Have 
you  always  been  fond  of — roses,  Etienne  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  slowly,  "always." 

His  eyes  were  so  brilliant,  and  he  kept  them  upon 
me  so  steadily,  that  my  own  fell.  I  busied  myself 
selecting  a  flower  for  my  hair. 

"Do  you,  too,  like  to  feel  the  soft  touch  of  their 
velvety  petals  against  your  cheek?"  I  asked. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said,  "I  have  never  tried." 

I  had  found  the  flower  I  wished,  a  half -blown  rose; 
fragrant,  palest  pink;  and,  standing  beside  the  table, 
I  looked  up  earnestly  at  Old  Vivian  as  I  put  the  blos- 
som in  my  hair.  I  wore  a  sheer  white  linen,  trimmed 
lavishly  with  beautiful  flower  embroidery  (dubbed 
lace,  because  the  heavy  background  is  cut  away),  with 
great  puffed  sleeves,  coming  only  to  the  elbow;  and  the 
neck,  half  high,  cut  square,  both  back  and  front,  like 
those  gowns  worn  by  the  women  in  old  Italian  pictures. 
A  charming  frock,  indeed,  almost  a  fancy  dress,  since 
my  dressmaker  had  allowed  her  fancy  to  run  riot.  Had 
the  cold-eyed  man  of  the  portrait  cared  to  see  his  wife 
in  pretty  gowns,  I  wondered?  Would  he  have  taken 
her  to  task  had  she  failed  to  bring  him  a  heavy  dress- 
maker's bill  ?  Did  his  servant's  descendant,  now  ruler 
of  Braithe  and  the  Braithes,  approve  of  my  white 
finery? 

"The  rose  is  perfectly  placed,"  said  a  hard  voice. 
"Will  you  kindly  sit  here?" 

121 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

I  flashed  around  upon  my  husband,  vexed  that  my 
effort  to  avoid  doing  what  he  wished  had  failed. 

"So  be  it,"  I  said,  seating  myself  in  the  chair  of 
state,  and  leaning  my  head  against  the  new  ruby  vel- 
vet of  the  high  carved  back,  "since  you  prefer  it.  A 
footstool,  please." 

I  spoke  imperiously,  although  kindly,  as  to  a  de- 
pendent. Etienne  brought  the  footstool,  placed  it  be- 
neath my  feet,  and  was  about  to  return  to  his  position 
before  the  chimney-piece,  when,  thrusting  out  my 
dainty  slippers — how  different  from  the  shabby, 
patched  shoes  of  the  past  winter!  — I  said,  looking  at 
them  disapprovingly:  "They  are  dusty,  yes,  really 
quite  dusty.  Kindly  remove  this  dust  with  your  hand- 
kerchief, Etienne." 

I  did  not  raise  my  eyes,  but  kept  them  fixed  upon 
the  silver  buckles  of  my  high-heeled  slippers;  slippers 
quite  free  from  dust  speck,  beautifully  clean. 

Etienne  came  forward,  dropped  upon  one  knee  be- 
fore me,  and  slowly,  very  slowly,  dusted  my  shining 
slippers  with  a  snowy  handkerchief.  He  knelt  grace- 
fully, a  difficult  feat.  I  wondered  how  he  would  look 
were  he  down  upon  both  knees. 

"Do  they  please  you  now?"  he  asked,  looking  up  at 
me  with  keen,  questioning  eyes.  He  had  finished  his 
task,  but  did  not  rise. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  tilting  my  head  a  little,  as  if  to  judge 
the  result  of  his  work  the  better,  "yes,  they  will  do 
very  well,  thanks." 

He  placed  a  hand  on  either  arm  of  the  chair,  steady- 
ing himself  and  imprisoning  me,  and  said,  slowly: 

"What  do  you  wish  me  to  understand  by  this?" 

I  smiled,  but  made  no  answer. 

"You  consider  this  my  proper  place,  Theo?" 

"If  this  chair  is  mine,"  I  said,  "yes.  If,  as  a  Braithe, 
I  am  to  fill  this  chair,  I  must  behave  as  such.  As  my 
mother's  daughter,  I  behave,  think,  feel,  differently; 

122 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

the  dust  upon  my  slippers  remains,  or  is  nicked  away 
with  my  own  handkerchief.  As  a  Braithe?  "Why, 
naturally,  I  use  the  hands,  the  handkerchief,  of  a 
Eappelle.  A  Rappelle  must  not  let  a  Braithe  do 
aught  but  idle.  You  place  me  here — take  the  con- 
sequences. You  force  me  into  this  position — behold 
your  own!" 

His  steady  gaze  brought  the  color  to  my  face,  but 
I  looked  into  his  eyes,  smiling.  My  Braithe  demon 
held  sway.  It  was  for  the  man  who  had  summoned 
to  exorcise  it.  He  had  commanded  me  to  be  my  old 
self;  I  obeyed  him.  He  rose  slowly,  and  stood  upon 
the  hearth-rug  as  before;  he  still  looked  earnestly 
at  me. 

"In  this  chair,"  I  continued,  staring  dreamily  before 
me,  "I  am  dowered  with  the  memories  of  past  events 
in  the  lives  of  my  grandfathers.  The  wealth  garnered 
in  their  noble  minds  is  handed  on  to  me.  Dear  me, 
dear  me,  how  well  I  remember  (as  Old  Vivian)  the 
night  I  looted  the  English  Braithe  House !  I  can  see 
my  lovely  Sophia  now,  as  she  stood,  her  sweet  blue 
eyes  upraised  to  mine,  asking  me  if  I  could  not  squeeze 
into  my  pocket  just  one  thing  more;  the  stocking  in 
which  my  dear  old  nurse  kept  her  little  savings! 
Sophia  had  drawn  it,  so  cleverly,  from  under  the  good 
old  soul's  pillow.  I  remember " 

"Theo!"  cried  Etienne,  greatly  shocked;  "how  can 
you  feel  so  bitterly  toward  the  Braithes?  A  fine  old 
race — they  had  their  faults,  of  course,  but " 

"One  moment,  please,"  I  said,  holding  up  my  hand 
to  enjoin  silence,  "give  me  just  one  moment,  Etienne, 
before  you  continue  your  praises  of  my  race.  As  a 
Braithe,  with  my  hands  upon  the  family  Leopards  of 
the  family  chair  (a  leopard  couchant  formed  each 
arm),  I  may  tell  you,  quite  plainly — since  you  excuse 
Braithe  failings — that  Mr.  Braithe  misinformed  you 
in  regard  to  me.  From  my  fourteenth  until  my  twen- 

123 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

ty-first  birthday  I  saw  many  people ;  going  from  pen- 
sion to  pension  in  Germany,  France,  Switzerland, 
Italy.  People,  Etienne,  are  the  same  in  pensions  as 
in  palaces — I  know  them  well.  Yes,  I  think,  that 
here,  in  this  chair  of  Vivian  de  Vere  Braithe,  I  may 
say  to  you  that  I  am  well  accustomed  to  the  society  of 
— men.  Indeed,  I  have  had  much  experience, 
Etienne,  of  men — and  their  ways.  And  I  think  I 
ought  to  add,  that  I  have  been  called  an  'arrant  flirt/ 
a  'hardened  coquette/  even — 'dangerous!' J 

By  the  time  I  had  finished  speaking  I  knew  that  my 
face  was  white;  my  hands  trembled  on  the  Leopards' 
slippery  backs,  and  I  could  no  longer  look  at  Etienne. 
However,  he  had  the  truth — at  last.  How  would  he 
take  it? 

A  chair  was  drawn  close  to  mine,  and  Etienne,  seat- 
ing himself,  said  gently,  but  with  an  odd  inflection, 
that  puzzled  me,  in  his  voice,  "When  you  lifted  your 
arms  to  put  that  rose  in  your  hair,  Theo,  did  you  know 
what  a  picture  you  made  ?" 

I  did  not  answer.  I  was  afraid.  With  this  man, 
who  was  my  husband,  I  had  lost  the  weapons  that  I 
had  handled  so  easily  when  free.  My  power  seemed 
gone.  He  lifted  my  left  hand  from  its  place  on  the 
Leopard's  head,  and  held  it  close. 

"You  are  like  a  rose,  Theo.  How  many  must  have 
told  you  so !  What  a  cold  little  hand,  my  dear ;  are 
these  white  embroideries  too  cool?  What  flashed  so 
brightly  under  them,  on  this  arm?  Ah!"  he  put  his 
free  hand  beneath  my  arm,  just  above  my  elbow,  where 
I  had  wound — thinking  it  would  be  out  of  sight — the 
diamond  chain  that  held  my  opal.  "The  Gypsy's 
Opal!"  in  pretended  astonishment,  and  suddenly  tight- 
ening his  grasp  upon  hand  and  arm,  said,  "and  on  a 
gypsy;  I  kiss  it  for  good  luck." 

Bending  his  head  he  kissed,  not  the  gem,  but  the 
bend  of  my  arm  within  the  elbow;  did  this  so  insult- 

124  * 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

ingly  that  in  an  instant  I  had  flung  him  off,  and  gained 
the  middle  of  the  room.  I  was  almost  beside  myself 
with  anger. 

"How  dare  you!"  I  cried,  stamping  my  foot.  "Oh, 
how  dare  you!"  I  could  speak  no  further,  passion 
choked  me. 

Etienne  rose  slowly  and  faced  me. 

"How  dared  you  tell  me  a  falsehood,  Theo?" 

He  spoke  so  calmly,  and  a  smile  of  such  sardonic 
amusement  played  about  his  lips,  that  my  anger  in- 
creased. 

"I?  A  falsehood?  When?"  I  cried,  tears  of 
wrath  in  my  eyes,  my  cheeks  aflame. 

"Just  now,"  he  said,  composedly,  "when  you  gave 
me  to  understand  that  for  seven  years  you  flirted  with 
the  Toms,  Dicks,  and  Harrys  of  European  boarding- 
houses." 

"But  I  did,"  I  said,  quickly,  "and  you  ought  to 
know  it." 

Etienne's  smile  of  amusement  deepened;  he  raised 
his  eyebrows  in  mock  astonishment,  as  he  said,  "What, 
so  out  of  practice,  from  two  years  of  seclusion,  that 
you  have  forgotten  how  to  take  a  kiss?  For  a  person 
of  seven  years'  experience,  that  is  a  little  strange. 
Why,  look!  at  the  mere  mention  of  my  kiss — a  hus- 
band's kiss,  too,  so  a  tame  one — you  blush  as  hotly  as  a 
school-girl.  Why  did  you  tell  me  such  a  fib,  Theo? 
One  so  easily  found  out,  too." 

As  he  spoke  my  anger  was  dominated  by  surprise  at 
the  way  in  which  he  had  taken  my  words.  I  was 
horrified  by  his  interpretation,  and  by  the  strange 
means  he  had  used  to  test  me.  Had  I  remembered 
that  to  some  people  the  word  flirting  meant  permitting 
such  liberties  as  stolen  kisses,  and  the  like — milkmaid 
coquetries — I  could  never  have  made  my  confession. 
Yet  how  explain? 

"You  thought  I  had  let — people  treat  me  so — so 
125 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

familiarly?"  I  faltered,  almost  too  much  ashamed  by 
his  ideas  of  me  to  speak  at  all. 

"You  said  so,  Theo." 

"Is  that  your  idea  of — of  flirtation,  Etienne?" 

"Accepting  a  kiss,  you  would  say,  Theo?  Why 
yes,  that's  about  it,  isn't  it?" 

I  took  out  my  handkerchief  and  dried  my  eyes.  My 
anger  toward  him  was  gone;  his  ignorance  had  won 
my  pardon,  had  gained  my  sympathy.  He  had  done 
quite  right  to  try  me — under  the  circumstances.  How 
disgusting  my  words  must  have  been  to  him;  how 
anxious  he  must  have  been  to  quickly  disprove  them. 
Kissing,  indeed !  So  he  feared  he  had  saddled  himself 
with  that  vulgar  creature,  a  hand-squeezing,  kissing, 
ogling  flirt !  Poor,  poor  Etienne !  I  must  have  vexed 
him  sadly — but,  dear  me,  how  much  he  had  yet  to 
learn! 

"I'm  sorry  to  have  been  disagreeable,  Etienne,"  I 
said,  gently,  "when  you  are  so  kind,  too.  I  am,  indeed, 
grateful  for  all  you  have  done  for  my  sisters — for  my 
little  Jane.  She  is  very  fond  of  her  brother-in-law." 
I  smiled  at  him  wistfully,  anxious,  at  last,  to  please. 

Etienne  frowned,  took  a  turn  to  the  window  and 
back  again,  sighed,  then  said  resignedly: 

"I  suppose  there's  no  use  in  begging  you  to  drop 
that  word,  Theo,  since  it  seems  to  be  the  chief  one 
in  your  vocabulary." 

"What  word,  Etienne  ?"  He  was  a  most  surprising 
man — I  found  him  interesting. 

"Gratitude — I  hate  it —  It's  out  of  place  between 
you  and  me —  There,  I  don't  wish  to  be  cross,  Theo, 
but  you  are  very  trying  at  times." 

"I  know  it,  Etienne,"  I  said,  meekly,  shaking  my 
head  and  sighing  over  my  deficiencies,  "very  trying, 
indeed." 

He  laughed,  but  uncomfortably. 

"As  I  said  before,  Theo,"  he  spoke  impatiently,  "I 
126 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

wish  you  would  forget  me,  and  try  to  enjoy  yourself 
a  little.  I  had  hoped  you  might  take  pleasure  in  your 
gewgaws — most  women  care  for  such  nonsense.  You 
don't,  it  seems." 

"But  I  do,"  I  protested.  "I've  already  told  you 
that  I  love  pretty  things,  Etienne.  I  am  even  fool- 
ishly fond  of  purple  and  fine  linen." 

"Ah!"  he  stared  at  me  a  long  moment;  "if  that  is 
true,  you  surprise  me,  Theo.  Why,  then,  may  I  ask, 
do  you  so  seldom  wear  your  jewels?" 

I  had  no  wish  to  tell  him  the  real  reason,  and,  no 
nonsense  coming  to  my  lips,  I  remained  silent. 

"Then  it  is  because  I  gave  them,  I  suppose,"  he 
added,  grimly. 

In  my  sudden  desperation  I  found  my  tongue — he 
must  not  be  allowed  to  believe  this  truth. 

"I  will  wear  them  all  this  evening,"  I  said,  smiling, 
yet  flushing  in  my  embarrassment,  "all.  You  shall  see 
me  covered  with  jewels,  monseigneur.  Now,  are  you 
pleased?" 

He  looked  at  me  curiously,  as  though  I  puzzled  him. 
I  felt  suddenly  at  my  ease,  and  oddly  gay. 

"Mrs.  Rappelle  shall  be  magnificent  to-night,"  I 
added,  lightly.  "You  will  not  recognize  Theo  Braithe 
in  that  grande  dame" 

"Theo  Braithe,"  said  Etienne,  slowly,  "can  shine  all 
the  Rappelle  diamonds  down." 

I  swept  him  a  low  courtesy.  "Not  another  word, 
please,"  I  said.  "Let  me  fly,  before  the  echo  of  that 
charming  compliment  dies  away." 

He  was  not  beside  me  when  I  reached  the  door, 
but,  as  I  glanced  back  over  my  shoulder,  smiling, 
hastened  forward  and  opened  it  for  me;  he  did  not 
speak,  however. 

Outside,  in  the  hall,  I  found  Hervey,  perched  on 
the  top  of  a  tall  step-ladder,  busily  engaged  in  rubbing 
up  the  letters  of  the  verse  above  the  chimney-piece. 

127 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

I  looked  up  at  him,  nodding  a  greeting,  and,  thinking 
my  hair  felt  a  trifle  loose,  patted  it  here  and  there. 
Ah!  my  rose  was  gone.  I  glanced  about  the  floor; 
then,  not  finding  it,  tapped  on  the  library  door,  open- 
ing it  at  the  same  time.  Etienne  was  bending  over 
his  desk. 

"I  have  lost  my  rose,"  I  cried.  "Have  you  seen 
it,  Etienne?" 

He  did  not  look  around,  but  said  absently,  and  as 
if  anxious  to  avoid  interruption,  "A  rose?  I  do  not 
see  it,  Theo." 

"No  matter,"  I  said,  hastily,  sorry  for  my  thought- 
less intrusion,  "it  is  of  no  consequence,"  and  closing 
the  door  noiselessly,  found  Hervey  looking  down  at 
me  with  his  deprecatory  smile. 

"One  man's  loss,"  he  said,  as  if  to  himself,  "is 
another  man's — rose." 

"  'Gain,'  goosie  Hervey!"  cried  Janey,  hanging 
over  the  gallery  railing — "rose,  forsooth!  You  mean 
'gain/  " 

Hervey  returned  to  his  work. 

"My  luve's  like  a  red,  red  rose," 

piped  Jane  in  her  sweet  treble,  dropping,  as  she 
sang,  a  great  red  rose  on  my  head. 

The  Chevalier,  thinking  it  thrown  for  his  amuse- 
ment, descended  the  staircase  in  a  rush,  but  I  had  al- 
ready stuck  the  flower  in  my  hair. 

"It  looks  pretty  in  your  dusky  tresses,"  said  my 
small  sister,  as  she  followed  the  Chevalier  slowly. 
"What  was  the  color  of  the  lost  one?  Oh,  here's 
Etienne" — he  came  quickly  from  the  library. 
"Where  are  you  going,  Etienne?" 

"To  Hilltown,  little  Jane,"  said  Etienne,  adding 
kindly,  "Do  you  want  to  go,  too?" 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Jane,  leaning  against  me, 
drawing  both  my  arms  around  her,  and  folding  my 

128 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

hands  across  her  bosom;  "no,  Etienne.  I  am  going 
to  gather  roses  with  Theo — but  we  won't  take  too 
many  from  the  garden,  we  won't  gather  all,  Etienne," 

"One  can't  gather  all,"  said  Etienne.  He  did  not 
look  at  the  child,  but  at  the  rose  in  my  hair. 

"One,  can't,"  said  Jane,  "nor  two,  perhaps;  but 
three  people,  I  think,  could  ravage  a  garden,  especially 
when  one  is  a  male  Braithe." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Jane?"  demanded  Etienne, 
in  astonishment. 

"Only  that  Herbert  is  waiting  for  us  by  the  sun- 
dial," said  the  child,  composedly,  "and  he's  an  out- 
and-out  Braithe,  if  his  name  is  Fayne.  However, 
I'll  look  out  for  your  roses,  Etienne,  so  don't  worry." 


129 


XIV 

The  garden  at  Braithe  had  been  as  tastefully  cared 
for  as  house  and  chapel,  all  its  quaint  beauty  pre- 
served. The  old-fashioned  flowers,  the  circle  of  turf  in 
its  centre,  with  the  moss-grown  sun-dial,  had  not  been 
disturbed.  Some  of  the  box  edging  the  paths  be- 
tween the  fancifully  cut  flower-beds  had  had  to  give 
place,  because  of  its  bulky  growth,  to  new,  smaller 
bushes — but  box  was  replaced  by  box.  It  was  the 
same  in  regard  to  the  hedge  of  arbor  vitse  that  in- 
closed the  small  square.  Where  the  trees  had  died 
from  overcrowding  by  lusty  neighbors  new  ones  were 
put  in,  but  these  same  big  neighbors  were  left  stand- 
ing, to  lift  their  beautiful  dark  points  as  high  as  they 
willed. 

To  the  south  a  belt  of  splendid  forest  trees  stretched 
between  garden  and  chapel,  and  a  pretty  path,  run- 
ning through  this  woodland,  connected  the  two.  On 
the  east  an  opening  in  the  hedge  led  into  my  new 
rose-garden.  Here,  on  this  sweep  of  lawn  edging  the 
plateau,  grew  fine  old  tulip-trees,  oaks,  sycamores,  and 
maples;  their  lower  branches  trimmed  high,  so  that 
one  looked  between  their  tall  trunks,  as  through  rows 
of  stately  pillars,  at  the  broad  river — and  away  to  its 
distant  hills.  Everywhere,  with  artistic  carelessness, 
rose-bushes  had  been  planted;  while  great  beds  of 
monthly  roses  showed  that  we  were  to  rejoice  in  fra- 
grant blossoms  even  when  June,  their  special  season, 
was  past. 

Little  Jane  and  I  went  to  the  old  garden  to  keep 
tryst  with  Herbert;  but  he  was  not  by  the  sun-dial. 
Janey,  closing  the  gate  in  the  hedge  with  elaborate 

130 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

caution  (a  tall  old-fashioned  iron  gate,  shaped  like  a 
harp),  motioned  me  to  make  no  noise. 

"Hush!"  she  murmured,  laying  a  small  forefinger 
against  her  lips.  "I  forgot  to  prepare  you  for  the 
change.  It  makes  him  look  like  Guide's  Apollo — 
same  queer  smile  seems  to  grow  'round  his  mouth, 
as  if  he  were  half  laughing,  half  sneering,  at  someone 
— in  his  sleeve,  you  know,  not  outright.  Of  course 
it  must  have  been  there,  part  of  the  time,  last  night, 
but  the  mustache  hid  it.  I  think  he  was  foolish  to 
do  it,  Theo,  but  after  his  upper  lip  tans  a  bit  it  won't 
look  so  white  and  queer." 

Then  I  understood  that  Herbert  had  parted  with 
his  mustache. 

"Guide's  Apollo,"  mused  the  child,  "driving  in  his 
careless  chariot,  surrounded  by  fat  women,  walking. 
I  wonder  are  clouds  like  soft,  heavy  sea-sand,  giving 
way  under  one's  feet,  and  tiresome?  I've  always 
thought  that  Apollo  was  a  lazy  sybarite;  he  might 
have  let  those  women  take  turns  driving,  and  walked 
himself.  But  he  wasn't  an  American,  poor  creature, 
so  we  must  make  allowances  for  his  rude,  greedy  ways. 
Dear  me,  how  hot  the  sun  is  here ! — Let's  go  into  the 
rose-garden.  I  wish  Herbert  would  come  and  amuse 
us." 

"Does  your  back  ache,  pet?"    I  asked,  anxiously. 

"Yes — but  don't  you  fret  about  me,  Theo.  You'd 
better  worry  over  Randoce,  fiery  mad  in  his  studio  at 
the  stables  because  you  don't  appear." 

I  had,  indeed,  forgotten  my  appointment. 

"There,"  said  Jane,  "don't  bother  about  him;  I 
want  you  to  play  with  me."  She  drew  me  with  her 
into  the  rose-garden  to  where,  beneath  the  trees,  a 
gay  Mexican  hammock  swung.  "Please  lie  down, 
Theo,  so — "  heaping  bright-colored  cushions  beneath 
my  head.  "I'm  going  to  take  down  your  hair  and 
turn  you  into  the  Sleeping  Beauty." 

131 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

"O  Jane!"  I  remonstrated,  "it's  so  hot;  and  what 
if  somebody  comes?" 

"Who  can?"  demanded  the  child,  removing  my 
hairpins  with  dainty  fingers.  "Etienne's  in  Hilltown, 
Lilian  in  the  sulks,  Randoce  in  his  studio,  Her- 
bert in " 

"Heaven,  I  think,"  said  a  pleasant  voice,  as  Her- 
bert himself  strolled  up,  "but  I'm  afraid  I'm  not  want- 
ed— yet  the  fair  maiden  invited  me  to  meet  her  by 
the  sun-dial!" 

"You  weren't  on  time,"  said  Jane  severely,  "but 
you  may  stay  now  you're  here,"  motioning  toward  a 
basket-chair  near  us.  "You  don't  mind  him,  Theo," 
speaking  under  her  breath.  "He  must  have  seen  you 
with  your  hair  hanging  down  loads  of  times  when 
you  were  young." 

I  smiled  up  at  my  darling;  since  in  her  eagerness 
she  had  forgotten  her  pain,  by  all  means  let  her  play 
her  play  out.  Herbert  sank  luxuriously  into  the  chair 
and  clasped  his  hands  behind  his  head.  I  looked  at 
him  with  much  interest,  feeling  a  strong  desire  to 
know  something  of  his  life,  and  of  him.  He  was 
handsomer  than  ever  without  his  mustache.  He  re- 
turned my  look  with  equal  interest. 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,  Dolly!"  he  said. 

"Why  do  you  call  her  that  ?"  asked  Janey,  ceasing 
in  her  work  of  destruction  to  stare  at  Herbert  cu- 
riously. 

"Because  she  was  once  my  little  cousin,"  said  Her- 
bert, "and  that's  one  of  my  old  pet  names  for  her. 
Helen  of  Troy  was  another — for  Theodora,  Gift  of 
God.  Dear  me !  I  had  one  of  my  biggest  fights  with 
Jimmy  Wylde  over  that." 

"Tell  about  it,"  urged  Jane,  squeezing  herself 
down  beside  me  in  the  hammock,  "please  tell." 

Herbert  smiled  good-naturedly  at  the  child.  "You 
must  know,  Cousin  Janey,"  he  said,  glancing  at  me, 

132 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"that,  as  a  child,  your  sister  Theo  was  a  gay  coquette 
— doubtless  she  has  changed " 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Jane,  sighing  profoundly,  "she's 
had  to,  since  she's  married." 

"You  regret  the  necessity?"  asked  Herbert,  quickly. 

"Yes,"  said  Jane,  sighing  again.  "I  ought  not  to, 
but  'twas  so  amusing.  My  mother  always  said  Theo 
flirted  artistically,  yet  was  so  unconscious  of  her 
power,  and  so  horrified  by  what  she'd  done,  that  she 
was  funny.  I  know  that  by  heart,  Mummy  said  it  so 
often Go  on  about  Jim,  please." 

"James  Wylde,"  said  Herbert,  obediently,  "was 
devoted  to  Theo,  and  being  told  by  someone  the  mean- 
ing of  her  name,  repeated  it,  proudly,  to  me." 

"Yes,"  said  Jane,  "of  course." 

"I  said,"  Herbert  went  on,  slowly,  "that  God's  gift, 
then,  was  like  the  famous  apple  that  set  three  god- 
desses at  loggerheads ;  only,  seeing  Theo  was  the  gift, 
men,  not  women,  would  be  set  by  the  ears.  I  added 
that  she  was,  already,  a  little  flirt;  and  Jim  punched 
my  head  with  horrid  promptitude." 

"Who  beat?"  asked  Jane,  eagerly. 

"James,"  said  Herbert,  gravely,  "because  he  was 
in  deadly  earnest  and  I — wasn't." 

I  seized  this  opportunity  to  tell  Herbert  about  poor 
Jim,  and  of  my  earnest  desire  that  he  should  return 
home  and  amend  his  ways. 

"I've  seen  him  lately,"  said  Herbert,  gently,  "and 
put  him  in  the  way  of  earning  his  living." 

"Bertie,"  I  cried,  "how  nice  of  you !  Where  is  he  ? 
What  is  he  doing?" 

"Hadn't  you  better  wait  until  he  comes  to  tell  you 
himself?"  was  the  kindly  answer.  "I  don't  want  to 
steal  Jim's  pleasure." 

I  was  charmed  with  this  evidence  of  Herbert's 
goodness  of  heart.  How  greatly  he  had  changed,  and 
as  I  had  hoped  he  might.  I  looked  at  him  affection- 

133 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

ately;  I  felt  proud  of  my  cousin.  He  returned  my 
approving  smile,  and  asked  Jane  why  she  was  pulling 
my  hair  down. 

"She's  to  be  the  Sleeping  Beauty,"  Jane  explained, 
"but  she's  shy  about  having  her  hair  hanging  loose. 
I  guess  you've  seen  her  that  way  before,  though, 
Bertie." 

Herbert  smiled  at  the  child's  sudden  adoption  of 
his  nickname — he  seemed  well  pleased,  and  I  liked 
him  the  more  for  his  evident  desire  to  gain  Janey's 
approval. 

"She  wore  it  hanging  loose  when  I  knew  her,"  he 
said,  "and  once  I  saw  it  soaking  wet." 

"When?"  cried  Jane,  all  interest  again. 

"A  cat,"  said  Herbert,  solemnly,  "came  to  Braithe. 
Theo  said  she  wished  it  would  go  home.  Anxious  to 
please,  I  popped  it  into  a  bag  and,  not  knowing  its 
earthly  home,  went  to  the  river  to  send  it  to  Cat 
Heaven,  when — Theo  appeared  on  the  scene." 

"You  wanted  to  drown  it?"  shrieked  Jane.  "Oh, 
how  awfully  cruel!" 

"So  Dolly  said,"  continued  Herbert,  "but  I — I  beg 
you  will  remember  that  I  was  but  a  rude,  disagreeable 
boy  at  the  time " 

"How  old?"  interrupted  Jane. 

"Oh!  fifteen  or  sixteen,"  said  Herbert. 

"Old  enough  to  have  known  better,"  commented 
Jane. 

"Yes,"  was  the  gentle  answer,  "you  are  quite  right, 
my  little  cousin.  I  went  from  bad  to  worse,  too," 
he  continued,  "for  when  Theo  remonstrated,  I  heaved 
the  bag  high  and  would  have  chucked  it  off  the  dock, 
only — "  he  broke  off,  stared,  wide-eyed,  at  the  child, 
and  added,  "only  something  awful  happened." 

"Oh,  what?"  cried  Janey.  She  was  getting  the 
amusement  that  she  longed  for. 

"Your  beautiful  sister,"  said  Herbert,  dramatically, 
134 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"crying  out,  'Then  I'll  drown,  too!'  flung  herself  head- 
long into  the  water." 

"O  Theo!"  gasped  poor  Jane.    "How  dared  you?" 

"The  Gift  of  God,  at  present  reclining  so  grace- 
fully in  the  hammock,"  explained  Herbert,  teasingly, 
"will  dare  anything  when  her  blood  is  up — that's  the 
reason  Jim  Wylde  and  I  fell  victims  to  her  charms. 
But  listen  to  the  end  of  this  thrilling  adventure.  A 
drowning  girl — especially  when  she  happens  to  be 
your  own  pretty  cousin — is  much  more  interesting 
than  any  cat,  even  if  she  hasn't  nine  lives  to  lose. 
Jane,  I  tore  off  my  coat,  and  plunged  in  to  the  rescue ! 
Yes,  I  saved  her!  Now,  don't  you  admire  me?" 

"No,"  said  Jane,  scowling,  "and  I'm  glad  I  didn't 
know  you  then." 

"That  was  the  first  time  Rappelle  saw  you,  wasn't 
it,  Dolly?  Gracious,  what  a  fury  you  looked,  shaking 
your  wet  mane  at  me  and  stamping  your  foot !  When 
he  and  Uncle  Braithe  appeared  on  the  scene  you 
scrambled  up  the  bank,  I  remember,  like  the  cat  I 
had  tried  to  drown,  and  disappeared." 

I  sat  up  in  the  hammock.  "Etienne — saw  me?" 
I  exclaimed.  "You  must  be  mistaken,  Bertie.  Why, 

I  never  saw  him  until "  I  stopped  short.  I  had 

no  wish  to  speak  of  my  indecently  hasty  marriage. 

"I'm  not  mistaken,"  persisted  my  cousin.  "I'm 
not  likely  to  forget  that  interview,  since,  though  short, 
it  was — intense.  Lilian,  I  remember,  had  kindly 
rushed  to  the  house  to  inform  her  dear  papa  of  our 
little  affair.  She  also  released  the  incarcerated  tab- 
by; not  from  kindness  toward  animals,  but  from  hatred 
of  cousins.  Figuratively  speaking,  Lilian  is  partial  to 
that  amusement." 

"What  amusement?"  demanded  Jane. 

"The  letting  of  cats  out  of  bags,  dear  child." 

"Yes,"  assented  Jane,  sighing,  "that's  so." 

I  was  hurriedly  going  over  the  incidents  of  that 
135 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

past  morning ;  searching,  searching,  for  a  memory  of 
my  father's  companion.  I  could  find  none,  remember- 
ing only  that  Mr.  Braithe  had  not  come  to  the  dock 
alone.  Blinded  by  angry  tears,  as  well  as  river  water, 
I  had  seen  no  one  distinctly  save  Herbert,  my  hated 
enemy  of  the  moment.  Etienne,  I  decided,  had  no 
more  recollection  of  the  childish  squabble  than  I  of 
his  presence. 

"Theo,"  said  Herbert,  suddenly,  "if  it's  not  a  rude 
question,  may  I  know  if  Mr.  Rappelle  holds  the  secrets 
of  the  House?" 

By  this  he  meant  a  knowledge  of  the  By-Ways. 
"No"  I  said,  "you  forget  that  I  alone  have  that 
right." 

"I  thought  you  might  have  told  him;  that  he  might 
have  asked." 

"Etienne  respects  the  old  traditions,"  I  said, 
gravely. 

"Old  rot,  to  my  thinking,  Dolly." 

"Yes,"  I  assented,  "but  I  am  under  oath." 

"Unless  a  Braithe  be  in  dire  need,"  said  Herbert, 
smiling. 

I  nodded. 

"Creepy,  crawly,  dreadful,  Braithe  secrets,"  said 
Jane,  shivering.  "Sometimes  at  night  I  imagine  I 
hear  garments  flutter-fluttering,  or  finger-nails  scrape- 
scraping,  behind  the  walls  of  my  room;  as  if  some  aw- 
ful thing  were  trying  to  find  its  way  through  those 
dark,  narrow  passages,  into  the  house — ah!" 

"Come,"  I  said,  hastily,  "if  I'm  to  be  a  Sleeping 
Princess,  it's  time  you  to  went  to  work,  Missy.  My 
hair-pins  are  not  all  out  yet." 

"To  be  sure,"  said  the  child,  forgetting  her  night- 
mares. "If  you'd  be  kind  enough  to  bring  me  what 
I  want  from  the  house,  Cousin  Herbert? — or  wait, 
I'll  go  with  you." 

The  two  walked  away  hand  in  hand.  The  Chev- 
136 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

alier,  roused  from  his  nap  beneath  my  hammock, 
blinked  lazily,  disapprovingly,  at  this  trotting  about 
in  hot  weather,  and,  resettling  himself,  drowsed  again. 

It  was  a  drowsy  morning.  The  blue  of  the  heavens 
was  soft  and  misty,  the  few  sunbeams,  that  made  their 
way  through  the  thickly  leaved  branches  of  the  old 
trees,  were  not  too  dazzling;  while  the  little  south 
breeze  seemed  to  be  playing  hide  and  seek  in  the 
canopy  of  greenery  above  me ;  so  often  did  it  cease  its 
rustling  and  appear  to  hold  its  breath.  The  soft 
warmth  brought  out  the  delicious  fragrance  of  the 
roses,  the  very  air  was  steeped  in  sweetness.  Through 
the  stillness  came  the  gentle  sound  of  diminutive 
wavelets,  cooing  a  faint  lullaby  along  the  shore. 

I  was  almost  asleep,  when  an  indignant  Frenchman 
bounced  through  the  opening  in  the  hedge.  "When 
I  saw  the  fierce  twist  of  La  Girouette  of  Monsieur 
Randoce,  I  knew  that  I  had  really  offended  him;  so 
I  hastened  to  speak  first,  and  smiled  a  welcome  at  the 
angry  man,  as  I  said  how  good  it  was  of  him  to  come 
and  look  me  up. 

"First  Mr.  Rappelle  kept  me  talking  of  household 
matters,  in  the  library,"  I  explained,  "and  then  Janey 
brought  me  out  here.  But  I  am  glad  I  broke  my 
appointment — it  is  too  warm  for  you  to  work;  do  sit 
down." 

With  an  odd,  bewildered  expression  in  his  fine  dark 
eyes,  Monsieur  Randoce  dropped  into  the  chair  Her- 
bert had  vacated,  and  seemed  at  a  loss  for  words. 

I  had  a  sincere  liking  for  Monsieur  Randoce;  his 
geniality,  his  desire  to  please  everyone  with  whom  he 
chanced  to  be  thrown,  his  good  manners,  and  his 
really  great  talent  as  an  artist,  made  him  a  delightful 
companion.  Then,  too,  I  felt  grateful  for  the  relief 
from  overstrained  nerves  that  I  had  found  in  his 
studio  in  town.  His  nonsense,  I  had  long  since  de- 
cided, was  but  surface  nonsense;  so  I  showed  my 

137 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

liking,  my  friendly  liking,  plainly,  never  dreaming  of 
being  misunderstood. 

"She  is  not  here,  the  leetle  sister?"  he  asked,  at  last, 
in  his  quaint  way.  I  liked  his  accent,  and  his  mistakes. 

I  explained  where  she  had  gone  and  for  what  pur- 
pose, and  had  hardly  ceased  speaking  when  Janey  and 
Herbert,  laughing,  chatting,  and  appearing  to  have 
made  great  strides  in  intimacy  since  leaving  me,  re- 
turned. Monsieur  Randoce,  eying  me  suspiciously, 
said,  fiercely: 

"You  did  not  mention  heem!" 

"Bertie?"  I  said,  carelessly.  "Oh,  no!  Bertie 
doesn't  count — he's  nothing  but  a  cousin,  Monsieur 
Randoce." 

"Who  doesn't  count,  Dolly?"  asked  Herbert,  the 
sharpness  of  whose  ears  had  tried  me  often  before. 

"You  don't,"  I  said,  a  trifle  crossly. 

"There,  Jane,  what  did  I  tell  you?"  said  Herbert, 
in  his  sunniest  way.  "Of  course  I  can  play  Prince. 
Why  can't  Monsieur  Randoce  do  the  reading  part? 
Good  English  lesson,  I'm  sure." 

"The  very  thing,"  cried  Jane.  She  looked  happy, 
even  joyous.  I  felt  grateful  to  Herbert,  who  had 
worked  this  charm,  and  allowed  him  to  spread  an 
elaborately  embroidered  table-cover  of  ruby  satin  over 
me,  without  grumbling. 

"The  book  says,"  quoth  small  Jane,  opening  a  vol- 
ume of  Tennyson's  poems  that  Herbert  had  dropped 
on  the  grass, 

'  The  silk  star-broidered  coverlid,' 

but  we  couldn't  find  one,  so  this  will  have  to  do.  It 
ought  to  be  purple,  but  there  isn't  one  in  the  house—- 
this came  from  the  library;  Etienne  won't  mind. 
Wait  a  minute,  Bertie;  oh,  here  we  are, 

'  The  maiden's  jet-black  hair  has  grown,' 
and  so  forth. 

138 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 
'  Forth  streaming  from  a  braid  of  pearl — ' 

Herbert,  give  me  the  pearls,  please,"  and  taking  my 
long  string  of  pearls  from  one  of  Herbert's  pockets, 
she  wound  them  in  and  out  among  my  loosened  locks, 
patting  hair,  table-cover,  and  me  into  shape.  Then, 
returning  to  her  book,  read,  seeking  instruction: 

'  Glows  forth  each  softly  shadowed  arm 
With  bracelets  of  the  diamond  bright.' 

Now  the  bracelets,  Herbert" — and  I  was  further 
adorned.  "Shut  your  eyes,  Theo,  and  pretend  you're 
asleep — ah!  isn't  she  lovely?  O  my  Theo,  I  wish  you 
could  see  yourself!  You're  too  sweet! — stop,  stop, 
you  mustn't  smile  like  that,  every  dimple  shows;  do 
stop.  Please,  Monsieur  Randoce,  will  you  read,  so 
that  Herbert  can  play  Prince  nicely?  See,  here  it 
says: 

'  He  stoops— to  kiss  her — on  his  knee.' " 

"No,"  interrupted  Monsieur  Randoce,  "no,  I  weel 
not  read!" 

"Dear  me!"  exclaimed  Jane.  "Why,  I  believe 
you're  angry." 

Herbert  laughed.  Monsieur  Randoce  sprang  from 
his  chair  and  walked  quickly  away.  Herbert  laughed 
again. 

"Theodora— Gift  of  God!"  he  said,  softly. 

"He's  coming  back!"  interrupted  Jane;  then,  with 
an  exclamation  of  relief,  "No,  it's  Etienne!"  She  ran 
to  meet  him,  pouring  out  her  story  of  Monsieur  Ran- 
doce's  strange  and  sudden  wrath,  the  scene  to  be 
played,  and,  at  last,  of  her  delight  in  his — Etienne's — 
coming.  "For  now  we  can  go  on.  Herbert  will  make 
a  beautiful  Prince,  don't  you  think?" 

"No,  no,"  said  Herbert,  hastily,  "I'll  read  now, 
and  Rappelle  shall  be  Prince." 

139 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"I'm  too  old  and  ugly,"  said  Etienne.  "Don't 
let  me  change  anything — play  your  parts  out,  I 
beg." 

"You're  not  old — and  you're  not  ugly,"  said  small 
Jane,  slowly,  "but  you  do  not  look  like  a  fairy  Prince, 
Etienne.  Still,  you  could  really  kiss  the  Princess, 
while  Bertie  would  have  to  pretend." 

"Oh,"  said  Etienne,  "so  I  might  really  give  the 
real  Princess  a  real  kiss,  though  I'm  not  a  real — 
Prince?" 

"We  might  let  the  Princess  choose,"  said  Herbert, 
in  an  expressionless  voice;  "but  no,  I  forgot,  prin- 
cesses never  choose,  do  they?  The  giving  of  their 
kisses  is  arranged  for  them." 

"Do  they  have  to  stand  smothering  to  order?"  I 
asked,  lightly,  flinging  aside  my  silk  covering,  and 
sitting  up.  "Janey,  I'm  too  warm  for  comfort. 
Mayn't  I  twist  up  my  hair?" 

"Passionate,  slumbrous  waves  of  hair!"  said  the 
child,  looking  at  me  dreamily.  "Theo  always  makes 
me  think  of  marble  courtyards,  with  orange-trees, 
and  pomegranate  flowers,  and  silvery  fountains — or 
of  moonlit  nights  on  old  stone  balconies,  with  swinging 
passion-flowers!  Where  is  the  Gypsy's  Opal,  the 
Hungarian  opal,  Theo?  Mother  said  if  ever  you 
wore  it,  it  would  be  the  tell-tale  of  your  heart." 

I  took  it  from  my  arm  and  gave  it  into  the  little 
hand.  I  could  not  speak;  since  when  my  baby  sister 
talked  thus  strangely,  showing  so  plainly  her  unlike- 
ness  to  other  young  creatures,  the  pain  in  my 
heart  held  me  dumb.  The  two  men  were  as  silent 
as  I. 

"Queer  old  Eternity!"  said  the  child,  smoothing 
with  one  small  finger  the  dull  gold  snake  that  en- 
circled the  gem.  "He  never  looks  tired  of  being  on 
guard.  I'd  hate  to  watch  and  ward  all  the  time, 
wouldn't  you,  Etienne?" 

140 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF.  BRAITHE 

"That  would  depend  upon  the  value  of  the  jewel 
I  guarded,  Janey." 

"Is  that  the  morning  paper  I  see  sticking  out  of 
your  pocket,  Rappelle?"  asked  Herbert,  irrelevantly. 
"Any  news?" 

"More  about  the  latest  horror,  that's  all,"  was  the 
answer. 

"I  know  what  that  was,"  said  Jane,  her  dreamy 
manner  changing  into  one  of  alertness.  "I  heard 
the  servants  talking  about  it;  a  hotel  set  on  fire  by 
wicked  thieves — I've  prayed  God  to  make  a  hell  to 
roast  them  in." 

"Janey!"  I  cried,  horrified. 

"Yes,  Theo,  because  you  think  there  isn't  any 
hell.  Not  an  old-fashioned,  hot-as-hot,  fire-and-brim- 
stone  hell;  you  know  you  said  so;  and  what  Hervey 
says  is  true,  those  men  ought  to  be  roasted  slowly. 
Old  fashions  always  come  up  again,  Mrs.  Gill  says, 
and  I  hope  that's  true  about  the  old-fashioned  bad 
place." 

"Dear  me !  What  a  severe  little  cousin,"  said  Her- 
bert, smiling.  "You  give  poor  sinners  short  shrift  and 
a  high  gallows." 

"Why,  don't  you  think  them  devils,  Cousin  Her- 
bert?" 

"I  think,"  said  Herbert,  stroking  the  child's  golden 
hair  caressingly,  "that  these  particular  devils  may  not 
be  so  black  as  the  newspapers  paint  them.  I  hope 
that  these  reports  may  not  be  true." 

I  smiled  approval  at  Herbert  as  I  tucked  up  my 
hair;  he  had  grown — so  it  seemed  to  me — into  a 
broad-minded  man,  looking  for  good,  and  hoping  to 
find  it,  in  all. 

"I  believe  in  this  last  report,"  said  Etienne,  looking 
at  Herbert,  an  expression  of  great  kindliness  in  his 
long  dark  eyes,  "though  I  dare  say  you'll  wish  to  deny 
its  truth." 

141 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

So  saying,  he  unfolded  the  newspaper  and  held  it 
up  so  that  we  might  see  the  two  pictures  on  the  open 
page,  and  above  them  in  large  type,  these  head-lines: 

"BKAVE  ACT  OF  UNKNOWN  HEKO." 

The  upper  picture  was  but  the  photograph  of  a 
very  handsome  man;  the  one  below  showed  a  man 
lowering,  by  means  of  a  long  rope,  a  woman  with 
a  child  in  her  arms  from  the  fourth-story  window  of  a 
burning  building.  The  man  was  Herbert  Fayne. 

As  I  turned,  in  delight,  from  the  pictured  Herbert 
to  congratulate  the  real  one  I  was  surprised  by  his 
expression  of  annoyance.  As  our  eyes  met  he  paled 
suddenly,  and  muttered  something  under  his  breath 
that  sounded  like  an  oath.  Etienne  smiled. 

"I  thought  as  much,"  he  said,  kindly,  "but  some 
have  glory  thrust  upon  them.  You'll  have  to  bear 
the  burden  of  your  bravery,  Fayne.  I  wish  you'd 
tell  us  about  this  experience;  as  an  exhibition  of 
strength,  alone,  it  was  remarkable." 

"I  suppose  some  infernal  kodak  fiend  must  have 
been  among  the  crowd,"  grumbled  Herbert,  surveying 
the  pictures  with  profound  disgust.  "Thank  Heaven, 
they  haven't  got  my  name,  anyway." 

Then,  unwillingly,  and  as  briefly  as  possible,  he 
told  us  of  that  night  of  horror.  He  had  not  been  stop- 
ping in  the  doomed  hotel  or,  indeed,  in  the  town  at 
all;  but,  waiting  at  the  railway  station  for  a  train — 
the  mere  necessity  of  changing  cars  had  kept  him 
there  for  an  hour — had  heard  the  alarm  of  fire,  and 
had  gone  with  the  crowd  to  the  burning  building.  Of 
his  untiring  efforts  to  save  life,  of  his  carelessness  of 
personal  danger,  of  the  many  poor  creatures  who  owed 
their  escape  from  torture  to  him,  he  would  say  nothing. 
But  he  did  not  need  to — the  newspapers  spoke  for 
him. 

142 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"Did  you  shave  off  your  mustache  so  that  people 
might  not  find  you  out?"  demanded  Jane,  her  eyes 
big  with  excitement,  as  she  stared  solemnly  at  this 
wonderful  cousin. 

Herbert  looked  at  the  child  oddly  for  a  moment, 
almost  as  if  he  disliked  her. 

"Hardly,  Janey,"  he  said,  at  last;  then,  evidently 
anxious  to  change  the  subject,  he  told  her  to  clasp  my 
opal  about  my  throat.  "You  might  lose  it,"  he  added, 
"and  it's  worth  more  than  most  such  gems." 

"There  aren't  many  of  them,"  said  Jane,  as  she 
obeyed  him.  "Lilian  and  I  went  to  two  big  jewel 
shops  in  town  and  we  saw  only  one  Hungarian  opal, 
and  that  wasn't  a  patch  on  Theo's.  Lilian  priced 
almost  all  the  jewels  in  the  shops — she  said  a  friend 
had  asked  her  to,  such  nonsense — and  the  man  showed 
us  Australian  opals;  they  look  like  crushed  rainbows, 
every  color  showing  together;  but  the  Hungarian — 
now,  look  at  Theo's.  Only  one  color,  or  perhaps  two, 
at  a  time,  a  green  light  chasing  a  blue,  or  red,  across 
the  surface.  Do  you  know,"  dropping  her  voice,  and 
glancing  around  as  though  about  to  reveal  a  weighty 
secret,  "I  believe  a  fairy  lives  in  each  opal  like  Theo's, 
and  peers  out  at  the  world  through  that  strange  milky 
veil.  When  the  fairy  loves  the  person  to  whom  her 
opal  belongs  she  feels  just  as  the  person  does,  and, 
quick  as  a  flash,  lights  up  colored  lamps  inside  to  suit 
her  feelings;  turns  'em  up,  turns  'em  down,  and  some- 
times, when  her  person  is  dreadfully  unhappy,  turns 
them — out." 

"May  Theo's  fairy  always  feel  gay,"  said  Herbert, 
brightly.  "Come,  little  Jane,  let's  carry  her  Lady's 
pearls  back  to  the  house."  He  picked  up  book  and 
table-cover,  and  held  out  his  hand  for  the  pearls,  but 
Etienne  begged  me  to  keep  them  on,  and  the  brace- 
lets. 

"Then  I'll  carry  you,  Jane,"  said  Herbert;  "you  are 
143 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

Theo's  biggest  pearl,  and  her  brightest  diamond,  aren't 
you?" 

"Better  say  I'm  her  pigeon-blood  ruby,"  said  Jane, 
accepting  his  offer  with  gratitude.  "Lilian  priced  one 
of  them — there  was  only  one — and  the  cost  was  awful. 
You  must  have  loads  of  money,  Etienne,  for  Lilian 
said  Theo's  ruby  was  way  ahead  of  the  one  in  the 
shop." 

"Yes,"  said  Etienne,  looking  at  the  newspaper  he 
still  held,  "I  have  money,  little  Jane,  and  it  does  buy 
— rubies." 

"And  amusements,"  added  Jane,  waving  her  hand 
to  us  as  Herbert  walked  off  with  her  in  his  arms;  "all 
sorts  of  amusements,  too." 

I  had  a  cowardly  desire  to  run  after  Herbert  and 
Jane,  but  feeling  that  it  would  be  rude  to  Etienne  to 
leave  him — he  made  no  motion  toward  following  the 
others — I  sat  still.  He  seemed  in  no  haste  to  break 
the  silence,  although  he  evidently  did  not  care  to  read 
the  paper  that  he  still  held,  mechanically,  in  his  hand, 
but  occupied  himself  by  looking  at  me.  Finally  I 
grew  too  much  embarrassed  for  comfort,  and  spoke 
myself: 

"So  you  did  not  go  to  Hilltown,  after  all,  Etienne  ?" 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  went  back  to  my  desk  and  made 
out  a  list  of  people  I  should  like  to  have  visit  us, 
if  you  don't  object.  I  have  divided  them  into  three 
sets — making  three  house-parties  through  the  sum- 
mer." He  drew  his  chair  up  to  my  hammock  and 
took  from  his  breast-pocket  a  folded  paper. 

"I'm  not  quite  sure  we  ought  to  entertain,  Etienne," 
I  said,  timidly,  not  liking  to  cross  him. 

"Why  not?"  he  asked,  in  surprise. 

"Because — "  I  began,  and  stopped  short. 

"Because  you  are  in  mourning,  Theo?  Nonsense, 
brides  are  not  expected  to  shut  themselves  up,  and 
Lilian  is  too  young  to  be  dull.  She  has  been  pale  and 

144 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

out  of  sorts  since  she  left  town.  Now,  will  you  look 
at  these  lists?"  There  were  three.  "I've  headed 
them  Fast,  Fine,  and  Firm." 

I  asked  an  explanation. 

"Well,"  said  Etienne,  "I  had  to  divide  them  in 
some  way,  and  I  thought  that  instead  of  mixing  people 
up,  as  in  ordinary  social  functions,  we'd  have  those 
of  congenial  tastes  together.  By  fast,  I  mean  merely 
some  of  the  gayest  members  of  the,  so-called,  smart 
set — I  want  you  to  meet  everybody  in  the  swim,  Theo 
— and  these  I  have  selected  are  either  amusing  or 
agreeable." 

"Very  gay  people  generally  are  agreeable,  Etienne ; 
they  are  so  delightfully  jolly." 

"Too  jolly,  sometimes,"  he  said,  a  trifle  grimly,  "but 
I'll  see  that  your  guests'  spirits  don't  run  away  with 
them.  The  fine  set  are  dull,  only  wanting  society  for 
the  sake  of  showing  their  fine  feathers ;  the  firm — the 
firm,  Theo,  are  like  you,  I  think;  well-born,  well- 
behaved,  but  with  an  inborn  love  of  gayety  that  carries 
them  among  the — gay." 

He  looked  keenly  at  me;  I  looked  across  the  river. 

"You  and  your  opal  are  blushing  together,  Theo," 
he  said,  softly.  "Where  is  the  great  red  rose  I  saw 
in  your  hair?" 

"Where  indeed?"  I  cried,  seizing  the  first  excuse  to 
leave  the  hammock  under  the  pretence  of  looking  for 
my  flower.  The  Chevalier  jumping  up,  too,  showed 
the  wilted  leaves  of  the  rich  red  blossom  strewn  upon 
the  grass  where  he  had  lain. 

"Crumpled  rose  leaves  don't  mar  your  slumbers, 
wicked  dog!"  I  cried,  patting  my  favorite.  "Etienne, 
I  must  run  now  and  make  myself  presentable  for 
luncheon." 

He  rose  unwillingly,  and  we  returned  to  the  house. 
On  the  way  he  spoke  admiringly  of  Herbert,  of  his 
splendid  bravery.  My  answers  were  perfunctory  and 

145 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

cold,  for  an  unworthy  suspicion  was  creeping  into  my 
heart,  that  Herbert  had,  enjoying  the  excitement,  but 
saved  life  as  Braithes  save  lives — with  the  crowd  ap- 
plauding, and  the  delightful  thrill  that  danger  brings 
repaying  him  for  every  fresh  effort.  I  was  ashamed, 
very  much  ashamed,  of  my  ungenerous  thoughts,  but 
banish  them  I  could  not,  strive  as  I  might. 


146 


XV 

Although  our  invitations  were  sent  out  rather  late, 
we  received  but  few  regrets.  Two  days  before  the 
Fourth  of  July  the  house  was  crowded  with  visitors. 
We  began  with  those  on  Etienne's  first  list,  headed 
"Fast." 

Lilian  had  taken  the  news  of  the  coming  gayety 
dully;  I  was  surprised  by  the  little  amount  of  interest 
shown.  Herbert,  on  the  contrary,  was  delighted. 
"Now  I  may  hope  to  see  something  of  you,  Dora,"  he 
had  said.  Janey  enjoyed  the  bustle  and  life  the  new 
arrivals  brought  to  Braithe,  but  she  soon  began  to 
worry  about  her  friend  Mr.  Brace. 

"He  gives  me  an  agitated  stomach,"  she  complained. 
"I'm  growing  attached  to  him,  he's  so  really  nice  and 
not  stuck  on  himself;  and  I'm  so  deadly  afraid  he'll 
say  something  to  make  these  people  laugh  at  him. 
Might  I  give  him  a  hint,  do  you  think,  not  to  talk 
when  they're  'round?" 

"Don't  fret,  Jane,"  I  said.  "They  are  well-bred 
people;  they  won't  laugh  at  him." 

"Well-bred,  Theo!  What  do  you  think  of  Mrs. 
Freddy  Love  ?  Cussing,  yes,  really  cussing,  my  dear." 

I  had  for  the  moment  forgotten  this  gay  young  per- 
son, a  pretty,  tall  girl,  with  big  brown  eyes,  and  a 
quantity  of  fair  hair  that  she  wore  in  a  mop  of  short 
fluffiness,  in  order  to  increase  her  likeness  to  the  fasci- 
nating Rosina  Yokes;  a  resemblance  of  which  she  was 
very  proud.  Her  language  was  strange — as  Janey 
had  remarked — and  I  sometimes  thought,  an  affecta- 
tion. Her  husband,  Freddy  Love,  found  her  amusing, 

147 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

and  was  always  encouraging  her  outbursts  of  profanity 
with  peals  of  laughter. 

We  had  as  guests,  besides  this  couple,  Mrs.  de 
Longue  Allenby,  a  handsome  woman  with  two  pretty 
daughters;  Mrs.  Allenby 's  devoted  attendant,  Major 
O'Leary;  Billy  Bandhar,  a  tall,  awkward,  very  dull, 
but  rich,  young  man-about-town ;  Ralph  Carrington,  a 
handsome  young  Virginian;  and  a  few  others.  A 
pleasant,  lively  set  of  people  on  the  whole.  I  enjoyed 
their  gayety. 

June  had  been  rainy,  and  Etienne,  hearing  that  a 
beautiful  waterfall  in  the  neighborhood  was,  because 
of  this,  particularly  well  worth  seeing,  proposed  a  pic- 
nic on  the  Fourth.  We  were  to  eat  our  luncheon  near 
the  waterfall,  and  return  home  early  enough  to  escape 
the  usual  late  afternoon  Fourth  of  July  thunder-storm. 
The  morning  was  fine  but  hot,  and  the  women  of  the 
party  appeared  in  their  most  filmy  muslins,  the  men  in 
white  duck  and  thin  flannels.  At  the  last  moment, 
when  the  parties  in  the  different  wagons  had  been 
arranged  to  everybody's  satisfaction,  Mrs.  Love  jumped 
from  her  seat  beside  Herbert,  and,  running  up  to  me, 
begged  me  to  exchange  with  her. 

"I  want  to  sit  beside  Rappelle ;  I  love  to  drive  four- 
in-hand,"  she  said,  shaking  her  mop  of  fair  curls  and 
smiling.  "But  I'm  not  goin'  to  do  the  flirtation  act, 
not  a  damn  flirt;  so  you  needn't  be  scared.  Honor 
among  thieves  you  know,  Mrs.  R. !"  And  amid 
laughter,  and  cries  of  "Do  as  you  would  be  done  by! 
Do  you  catch  on,  Freddy,  my  boy?"  and  much  non- 
sense, I  did  as  she  wished,  and  we  started. 

Herbert  drove  a  double  dog-cart.  In  the  back  seat 
were  Lilian  (charmingly  pretty  in  her  white  frock  and 
big  black  hat)  and  Ralph  Carrington.  That  he  was 
deeply  smitten  by  the  fair  beauty  of  his  companion 
was  very  evident,  and  her  pleasure  in  his  society  was 
shown  by  the  soft  pink  flush  in  her  usually  pale  cheeks. 

.148 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

I  liked  the  young  Virginian,  his  frank,  gay  manner 
and  handsome  dark  face.  I  fear  I  am  something  of 
a  match-maker,  for  as  I  looked  at  the  two  I  thought 
what  a  handsome  couple  they  would  make. 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,  Theo!"  said  Herbert, 
who  was  driving  very  slowly,  because  of  the  heat,  he 
insisted.  I  could  not  earn  the  penny,  my  thoughts 
being  unrevealable. 

"What  a  nice  little  woman  Nelly  Love  is,  Theo," 
was  his  next  remark. 

"I  wonder  you  think  so,  when  she  left  you  for 
Etienne." 

"My  suggestion,  my  dear  child." 

"Your  suggestion,  Bertie?    What  do  you  mean?" 

"Simply  that  she  bores  me  and  you — -don't." 

"Why  do  you  blow  hot  and  cold,  Bertie,  and  talk 
nonsense  that  doesn't  deceive  me?  One  minute  you 
pretend  you  like  her,  the  next — not.  Please  don't  be 
such  a  goose;  and  drive  faster,  or  I'll  take  the  reins 
myself,  and  probably  upset  you,"  and  I  laughed. 

"You've  done  that  already,  Dolly,"  he  said,  under 
his  breath,  as  he  whipped  up  the  horses.  I  laughed 
again. 

"Poor  Bertie!"  I  said;  "balked  of  his  flirtation  with 
gay  Mrs.  Love,  and  forced  to  keep  his  hand  in  with 
his  country  cousin.  There,  don't  beat  the  poor  horses. 
Because  I  don't  want  to  crawl,  that  doesn't  mean  I 
want  to  run  away." 

"I  wish  you  did,"  he  grumbled.  I  stared  at  him. 
He  was  really  out  of  humor.  Sorry  that  he  had  felt 
Mrs.  Love's  desertion  as  a  snub,  before  so  many  peo- 
ple, too,  I  laid  my  hand  gently  upon  his  arm,  and  tried 
to  soothe  his  wounded  vanity. 

"Don't  be  cross  with  me,  Bertie,"  I  whispered.  "I 
like  to  see  my  handsome  cousin  always  sunshiny.  I'll 
manage  so  that  you  shall  drive  home  the  prettiest  girl 
of  the  lot.  Choose— shall  it  be  Elsie  Allenby?" 

149 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"Japanese  girl  in  a  tea-garden,"  was  the  sharp 
answer. 

"Well,  Mabel  then." 

"Pretty  viper,  lifting  her  small  head  to  strike." 

"Perhaps  the  mother  might  suit  you  better,  Bertie. 
She  is  handsome,  and  a  widow." 

"A  widow,  Theo?    Yes,  through  the  divorce  court." 

"What!"  I  exclaimed;  "a  divorcee1!     O  Herbert!" 

"May  we  hear  the  cause  of  your  excitement,  Theo, 
dear?"  asked  Lilian,  leaning  forward  from  the  back 
seat. 

"Theo  didn't  know  Mrs.  de  Longue  Allenby  had 
slipped  the  noose  matrimonial,  that's  all,"  explained 
Herbert,  "and  your  sister,  being  a  good  Episcopalian, 
is  properly  shocked." 

"Then  you  don't  believe  in  divorce,  Mrs.  Rappelle  ?" 
said  young  Carrington,  eagerly,  leaning  forward  in 
his  turn. 

"No,"  I  said,  shortly.  "If  Mr.  Allenby  was  cruel, 
and  wicked,  of  course  his  wife  ought  to  have  been 
separated  from  him;  but  divorced — never!" 

"He  wasn't  cruel,"  drawled  Herbert,  "or  wicked. 
She  happened  to  prefer  O'Leary — that  was  all.  The 
joke  of  it  is  that  now  she's  got  rid  of  Allenby,  O'Leary 
can't  marry  her." 

"Why  not?"  asked  Lilian. 

"Because  his  wife  won't  let  him.  He  can't  divorce 
her — and  she  won't  divorce  him,"  said  Herbert,  laugh- 
ing. 

"Is  she  so  fond  of  him,  Bertie?"  I  could  not  under- 
stant  the  wife's  affection. 

"No,  my  foolish  cousin,  not  fond — but  furious.  She 
pays  him  out  that  way." 

"I  call  it  disgusting,  the  way  married  people 
change  partners  now,  as  if  marriage  were  a  dance," 
said  Mr.  Carrington,  hotly.  "It  ought  to  be  put  a 
stop  to." 

150 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

"Wait  till  you  fall  in  love,  old  fellow,"  said  Herbert, 
smiling,  "then  you'll  change  your  tune." 

"I  hope  I  may  fall  in  love  without  poaching  on  other 
men's  preserves,"  was  the  answer.  "I'd  sooner  hang 
myself  than  marry  a  divorcee" 

"Fine  speeches!"  sneered  Herbert.  "Wait  till  the 
lightning  strikes.  When  your  turn  comes  you'll  do  as 
others  have  done — get  the  woman  you  love,  by  hook 
or  by  crook." 

"Mr.  Carrington  may  say,"  I  said,  quickly,  "as  some 
already  have: 

"  I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much, 
Loved  I  not  honor  more. " 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Rappelle,"  cried  Carrington.  "It 
is  very  pleasant  to  be  understood.  And  you,"  drop- 
ping his  voice  and  turning  to  Lilian,  "you  agree  with 
your  sister,  I  feel  sure." 

Lilian  had  lost  her  pretty  color;  pale,  with  eyes  cast 
down,  she  sat  motionless,  as  if  not  interested  in  the 
conversation. 

"Do  you  agree  with  Theo,  and  with  Carrington, 
Lilian?"  asked  Herbert,  suddenly  turning  in  his  seat, 
and  looking  searchingly  at  her. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said,  very  gently;  "I  hate  find- 
ing fault  with  the  poor  naughty  people.  It  is  so  hard 
to  be  a  saint — so  easy  to  be  a  sinner.  Let  us  all  pray 
that  we  may  never  be  tempted." 

As  Herbert  readjusted  himself  our  eyes  met.  A 
derisive  gleam  shot  from  his.  "Does  the  goody-goody 
trick  neatly,  doesn't  she,  Dolly?  Simple  Simon  is 
gulled  no  end." 

"Hush,  Bertie!" 

"O  my  Theo,  noble-hearted!  There,  I  won't  say 
another  word.  This  is  the  gate  we  turn  in,  isn't  it? 
I  remember  it  from  the  time  we  came  here  together 

151 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

as  children,"  and  he  began  to  sing  "Auld  Lang 
Syne." 

The  horses  broke  into  a  swift  trot,  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments we  had  entered  the  little  wood,  where  the  others 
of  the  party  were  already  assembled.  Etienne,  com- 
ing quickly  forward,  lifted  me  from  the  wagon.  He 
looked  rather  grave. 

"You  are  late,"  he  said. 

"You  mustn't  scold  Theo,  Etienne,"  said  Lilian, 
sweetly.  "She  and  Bertie  began  on  their  reminis- 
cences and  forgot  about  time.  I  hadn't  the  heart  to 
,  remind  them — it  was  my  fault." 

That  she  was  paying  me  out,  as  she  would  have  said, 
for  something  I  had  done — or  left  undone — was  evi- 
dent; but  for  what,  rack  my  brains  as  I  might,  I  could 
not  imagine. 

"We  are  to  lunch  under  those  trees,"  said  Etienne, 
nodding  toward  the  chosen  spot,  "and  walk  to  see  the 
cascade  later." 

"Yes,"  chimed  in  Mrs.  Love,  coming  up,  "such  an 
infernal  noise  when  you're  near  it,  you  can't  hear 
yourself  burble.  Bracy-pacy  and  I  galloped  up  there 
just  now — my  hind-legs  ache  yet,  we  trotted  along  so 
hard.  Say,  Mrs.  Theo,  may  I  peel  the  hard-boilers? 
You  owe  me  a  good  turn,  yon  know" — in  a  whisper; 
then,  raising  her  voice  again,  "I've  never  had  a  big 
enough  go  at  'em  in  my  life." 

"Hard-boilers?"  I  questioned. 

"Yes,  child,  yes — hard-boiled  eggs.  I  love  to  peel 
the  shells  off;  may  I?" 

"We  have  a  throne  for  the  queen  of  the  fete,"  said 
Monsieur  Randoce,  in  French,  as  he  joined  us.  "Be- 
hold then!"  pointing  toward  a  pile  of  cushions,  heaped 
at  the  foot  of  a  great  tree.  "And  a  crown  of  ferns 
and  roses — for  the  most  beautiful!"  He  bowed  low 
as  he  finished  his  little  speech. 

"Oh,  you  absurd  old  Parlez-Vous!"  cried  Mrs.  Love, 
152 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

with  her  gay  laugh.  "Can't  you  trot  it  out  in  plain 
American?  Or  don't  you  want  me  to  understand?" 
and  she  ran  away. 

The  Frenchman  smiled  deprecatingly,  and  spread 
out  his  hands.  "A  good  heart,  doubtless — but!"  he 
ended  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  His  black  mus- 
tache hung  a-droop,  signifying  that  Monsieur  Randoce 
was  melancholy,  and  I  knew  that  he  felt  aggrieved  be- 
cause Herbert  had  been  my  Jehu.  Anxious  that  all 
should  enjoy  the  day,  I  hastened  to  admire  his  ar- 
rangement of  the  cushions,  and  taking  off  my  hat, 
submitted  to  being  crowned  with  his  pretty  wreath. 
This  cheered  him,  and  he  straightway  curled  his  mus- 
tache gayly  upward — his  spirits  having  grown  high. 

All  had  voted  for  an  old-fashioned  picnic ;  the  cloth 
to  be  spread  on  the  grass,  and  everything,  save  the 
ices,  to  be  put  on  it  at  once.  It  had  been  suggested 
that  we  should  wait  upon  each  other,  but  this  Etienne 
had  vetoed,  saying  too  much  spilling  would  be  the 
result. 

"I  told  that  prime  old  hen,  my  pearl  of  a  Merle,  to 
lay  no  end  of  eggs,"  said  Mrs.  Love,  surveying  the 
feast.  "Heavens,  what  a  pile !  Here,  you  Brace,  come 
sit  beside  me  and  feed  me,  while  I  work  for  the  crowd. 
I'll  pin  on  your  bib." 

So  saying,  she  pushed  Mr.  Brace — to  my  sur- 
prise nowise  unwilling — down  upon  the  cushions  be- 
side her,  and  pinned  a  napkin  firmly  around  his  neck. 

"Isn't  he  too  cunning  for  anything!"  she  said,  con- 
templating, with  great  complacency,  the  innocent  face 
of  little  Mr.  Brace,  blushing  pinkly  above  his  napkin. 
"He's  so  infernally  pious  he's  bound  to  keep  me 
straight,  aren't  you,  Bracy?  Don't  he  look  like  the 
dearest,  puffiest  little  cherub  you  ever  saw?  He  ought 
to  have  wings !  Give  me  some  white  paper,  somebody, 
quick." 

Hervey,  amused,  though  disapproving,  found  some; 
153 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

and  straightway  Mr.  Brace  had  a  pair  of  ragged  wings 
hanging  down  his  back. 

"Floppy,  of  course,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  cried 
Mrs.  Love,  with  the  air  of  a  showman,  "because  his 
spirits  are  low;  wait  till  he  gets  some  champagne 
aboard — "  winking  at  me,  "then  you'll  see  these  wings 
rise  up  and  flutter!  I'll  pin  him  to  my  hat  then,  like 
a  beautiful  butterfly,  to  keep  him  steady.  Now  then, 
a  bite  of  that  sandwich,  please,  and  I'll  to  work."  She 
drew  the  dish  of  eggs  toward  her  and  began  to  shell 
them  with  great  energy,  Mr.  Brace  feeding  her  with 
whatever  she  demanded. 

Mrs.  Love  was  very  well  born,  and  because  of  her 
blue  blood  her  vagaries  of  speech  and  behavior  were 
tolerated.  "It's  only  Nelly's  way,"  her  friends  said. 
Mrs.  Allenby,  gentle,  dignified,  with  a  charming  se- 
renity of  manner,  looked  on  with  amiable  amusement 
as  Mrs.  Love  diverted  herself.  I  wished  Herbert  had 
not  told  me  of  Mrs.  Allenby's  divorce.  I  wondered  if 
there  might  not  be  extenuating  circumstances.  She 
was  so  very  attractive.  Then  I  saw  Major  O'Leary 
attending  to  her  wants  with  an  air  of  accustomed  de- 
votion, and  looked  away  with  a  sensation  of  disgust. 
As  I  did  so  I  caught  Etienne's  eye;  he  smiled  kindly 
at  me  across  the  table-cloth.  I  wondered  of  what  he 
was  thinking. 

"I  had  a  letter  all  about  you  yesterday,  Mrs.  Rap- 
pelle,"  said  Miss  Mabel  Allenby,  during  a  lull  in  the 
conversation.  "It  was  from  Bella  Acton;  do  you  re- 
member her?" 

"Yes  indeed,  very  well.  She  was  so  pretty — where 
is  she  now?" 

"And  her  brother,  James  Acton,  do  you  remember 
him,  too?" 

"Yes." 

"She  says  you  jilted  him,  Mrs.  Rappelle,  because 
he  was  poor — but  of  course  I  don't  believe  that  one 

154 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

bit.  It  was  a  cross,  horrid  letter,  dear  Mrs.  Rappelle." 
with  a  sweet,  sad  little  smile,  "and  I  am  most  angry 
with  Bella.  The  idea  of  saying  you  were  en- 
gaged to  two  men  at  once!  To  her  brother,  and  to 
some  other  horrid  man.  It's  really  too  bad  of  her,  and 
I  shall  tell  her  so."  Miss  Allenby  pouted,  and  looked 
gracefully  severe. 

"Makes  you  out  a  regular  Mormon,  doesn't  she, 
Mrs.  Rappelle  ?"  cried  Nelly  Love,  still  busy  with  the 
eggs,  though  the  salad  had  been  reached.  "Awfully 
nice  of  you  to  repeat  what  Bella  Act-like-the-Devil 
wrote,  Mabel,  it  interests  us  all  so  much.  Talking  of 
Mormons,  do  you  suppose  a  man  can  be  in  love  with 
a  dozen  wives  at  a  time?  What  do  you  think,  Bracy?" 

"I  don't  see  why  not,"  said  Mr.  Brace,  gently,  star- 
ing patiently  around  at  us  all  through  his  eye-glasses. 
"Of  course  Mormonism  is  a  dreadful  sin,  but  when  it 
comes  to  loving — why,  if  a  man  has  six  or  seven  chil- 
dren he  can  love  them  all  dearly,  so  why  not  six  or 
seven  wives?" 

The  dead  silence,  that  had  lasted  during  this  re- 
markable speech,  was  ended  in  a  storm  of  laughter 
and  wild  applause.  The  men  roared  and  shouted  as  if 
they  would  never  have  done,  and  the  women  giggled 
delightedly. 

"Listen  to  the  little  parson,"  yelled  the  men.  "Hear 
him  interpret  the  Law  and  the  Prophets!" 

Poor  Mr.  Brace  was  scarlet  with  confusion,  and 
Janey's  misery  was  painful  to  witness.  The  child's 
eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"Talking  of  jilting,"  said  Billy  Bandhar,  solemnly, 
as  the  tempest  of  mirth  subsided,  "talking  of  jilting, 
I  say,  I  hope  Folsom  Figgers  will  come  to  his  senses, 
and  jilt  the  girl  he's  been  fool  enough  to  engage  him- 
self to,  before  she  marries  him." 

Mr.  Bandhar  was  eating  lobster  salad  and  rasp- 
berry jam,  in  alternate  bites;  he  said  the  combination 

155 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

was  new  and  delightful.  He  crouched  cross-legged  on 
a  mat,  a  huge  plate  of  the  salad  just  in  front  of  him, 
the  jam-pot  beside  it.  This  was  his  first  effort  at  con- 
versation— heretofore  he  had  been  absorbed  in  ab- 
sorbing. 

"What's  the  matter  with  his  girl?"  asked  Freddy 
Love. 

"Poor,"  said  Mr.  Bandhar,  still  more  solemnly, 
"very  poor!  If,"  he  continued,  poising  a  large  mass 
of  salad  on  his  fork,  preparatory  to  stuffing  it  into 
his  mouth,  "if  I  were,  in  a  moment  of  insanity,  to 
offer  to  marry  a  poor  girl,  I  hope  I  should  fall  dead 
on  the  way  to  the  altar." 

"Oh,  you  coward!"  cried  Mrs.  Love,  picking  up  an 
olive  from  a  dish  beside  her,  and  throwing  it  at  him 
with  great  force,  and  an  appalling  accuracy  of  aim. 
"You'd  flinch,  would  you?" — another  olive.  "Why, 
what  girl  would  be  damn-fool  enough  to  want  to  run 
in  double  harness  with  you?" 

"Stop  her,  Freddy!"  yelled  the  wretched  Bandhar, 
scrambling  to  his  feet,  and  overturning  salad  plate 
and  jam-pot,  "she's  ruinin'  my  clothes.  Speak  to  her, 
can't  you?" 

But  Freddy,  limp  with  laughter,  only  cried,  "Go 
it,  Nell,  go  it!" 

Mrs.  Love,  jumping  up  in  her  turn,  seized  the  dish 
of  olives  and — using  them  as  a  child  would  snow- 
balls— pursued  her  victim;  who,  entreating  and  ex- 
postulating by  turns,  dodged  her  as  best  he  might 
among  the  trees.  The  men  encouraged  Nelly  with 
applause  and  delighted  yells  of  approval.  As  for  me, 
I  leaned  my  head  back  against  my  tree-trunk  and 
laughed  till  I  cried;  Mr.  Bandhar's  terror  was  so 
ridiculously  real. 

Etienne,  at  last,  taking  pity  upon  the  forlorn  man, 
called  the  crowd  to  order,  and  Mr.  Bandhar  was 
soothed,  and  comforted  with  champagne. 

156 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

"You  are  a  Southerner,  Mr.  Fayne,  ees  eet  not  so?" 
asked  Monsieur  Randoce,  good-naturedly  trying  to  di- 
vert people's  attention  from  Bandhar,  who  was  on  the 
verge  of  tears. 

"No  such  luck,"  said  Herbert,  smiling.  "When 
I'm  North  I  only  wish  I  were." 

"Why?"  asked  Mabel  Allenby,  curiously. 

"Because  then  I'd  be  everybody's  darling.  Look  at 
Carrington,  that  F.  F.  V. — don't  you  all  dote  on  him? 
He  is  picturesque,  don't  you  see,  with  a  Lost  Cause, 
and  a  romantic  background  of  slaves.  I'm  nothing 
but  a  poor  Yankee,  quite  out  of  the  fashion.  The 
Southerners  have  the  soft  snap  up  here  nowadays. 
The  only  way  I'm  in  the  swim  at  all  is  because  I'm 
cousin  to  the  Braithes,"  and  he  smiled  at  me. 

"A  near  cousin?"  questioned  Mabel,  still  more 
curiously. 

"In  every  sense  of  the  word — yes,"  was  the  quiet 
answer. 

Miss  Allenby  laughed  disagreeably. 

"Let  us  go  and  look  at  the  waterfall,"  I  said,  rising. 
I  was  displeased  with  Herbert.  What  did  he  mean 
by  talking  so  foolishly,  by  his  sentimental  glances  and 
meaning  smiles?  An  outsider  might  have  supposed 
from  his  manner  that  he  and  I  had  been  lovers  in  the 
past,  instead  of  a  pair  of  constantly  squabbling  chil- 
dren. There  was  such  a  thing  as  carrying  a  joke  too 
far,  if  he  intended  one.  I  felt  I  must  give  him  a  talk- 
ing to.  He  joined  me  as  I  strolled,  with  the  others, 
up  the  wooded  hill.  Janey  was  on  his  shoulder. 

"Bertie  is  carrying  me  because  I'm  a-weary,  yes, 
body  and  soul,"  said  poor  little  Jane. 

"Carefully,  Bert,"  I  said,  forgetting  his  misdeeds  in 
my  fear  lest  he  let  the  child  fall.  "Moss  and  pine- 
needles  are  slippery." 

"He's  strong,"  said  Jane.  "I'm  not  sure  his  heart 
isn't  crooked,  but  his  back  and  legs  are  all  right." 

157 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"Ungrateful  child!"  said  Herbert.  "And  I  your 
slave!" 

"Every  girl's  slave,  I  guess,"  said  Jane.  "Lilian 
says  you're  an  awful  flirt,  and  never  say  what  you 
mean." 

"Don't  believe  her,  Theo,"  said  Herbert,  quickly. 
"Lilian  sees  us  all  through  blue  glasses." 

"Here's  Etienne!"  cried  Janey.  "Etienne,  come 
here;  I  want  you  to  carry  me  back,  then  Theo  won't 
worry,  and  I  want — "  She  whispered  the  rest,  as  she 
left  Herbert's  arms  for  Etienne's. 

"That  must  be  as  Theo  wishes,"  said  Etienne,  look- 
ing at  me  steadily.  "She  may  have  arranged  other- 
wise." 

"Come  here,  Theo,"  commanded  my  small  mistress; 
and,  as  I  obeyed,  she  put  one  arm  around  my  neck,  and 
drew  my  face  close  to  hers  and  Etienne's.  "I  want 
us  three  to  drive  home  together — just  us  three.  I'm 
tired  to  death  of  the  strangers  within  our  gates,  yes, 
tired !  I  'most  wish  I  could  hear  their  teeth  gnashing 
in  outer  darkness,  I'm  so  disgusted  with  their  ways — 
making  me  laugh,  and  you,  too,  Theo,  when  'twas 
rude.  Here,  take  that  off!"  She  lifted  the  wreath 
from  my  hair,  and  dropped  it  into  the  swiftly  flowing 
brook  beside  us.  "Will  you  come  with  Etienne  and 
me,  Theo?" 

"Yes,  Janey." 

"You  wish  to,  Theo?"  asked  Etienne,  his  lips  almost 
touching  my  cheek. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  blushing  hotly. 

"Then  let's  be  off,"  said  Jane,  "and  I'll  try  to  for- 
get and  forgive."  I  stared  at  her.  "Don't  be  a  goose, 
Theo — Brace,  of  course.  I  was  growing  so  attached — 
but  there,  never  mind;  he's  young.  I'll  try  to  hope 
he'll  learn  better  in  time." 

I,  too,  had  been  pained  by  Mr.  Brace's  foolish 
speech,  and  could  not  but  regret  the  boyish  readiness 

158 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

with  which  he  yielded  to  the  fascination  Mrs.  Love's 
wild  spirits  evidently  possessed  for  him.  He  was  un- 
able, owing  to  a  call  from  one  of  his  poor  people,  to 
remain  at  the  house  that  evening;  and,  although  at 
first  I  was  sorry  to  have  him  lose  the  fine  display  of 
fireworks,  I  was,  later,  glad  of  his  absence. 

This  was  when,  at  our  midnight  supper,  Mrs.  Love 
suddenly  mounted  the  table,  and,  calling  upon  Hervey 
to  remove  the  candles  lest  they  set  fire  to  her  gauzy 
skirts,  offered  to  dance  for  our  amusement. 

"Now  then,  boys  and  girls,"  she  cried,  gayly,  shak- 
ing her  mop  of  curls,  and  smiling  down  upon  us,  "I'll 
finish  up  this  celebratin'  of  the  glorious  Fourth  by 
giving  you  a  new,  and  truly  original  specimen,  of  the 
terpsichorean  art.  I'll  give  you  a  Fourth  of  July 
quickstep  first,  and,  as  encore,  the  Braithe  House 
fling!" 

As  she  caught  her  skirts  in  both  hands  preparatory 
to  beginning,  I,  almost  unconsciously,  rose,  casting  at 
the  same  time  an  imploring  glance  at  Etienne.  He 
returned  it  as  if  understanding,  but  the  next  moment 
himself  stepped  up  on  the  table,  and,  picking  his  way 
among  the  glasses  and  flowers,  joined  Mrs.  Love.  I 
felt  oddly  faint,  sick  at  heart;  what  was  coming? 

Mrs.  Love  welcomed  him  joyfully.  "Bully  for  you, 
Rappelle!"  she  cried,  holding  out  a  hand  to  him. 
"You're  the  boy  for  my  money!  Shall  we  do  a  cake- 
walk  for  the  crowd?" 

Shouts  of  approval  and  encouragement  arose  on  all 
sides.  Billy  Bandhar  was  almost  beside  himself  with 
delight;  Major  O'Leary  leered  up  at  Nelly  Love  in 
a  state  of  rapture  that  was  repulsive. 

Etienne  disregarded  her  motion  of  welcome: 

"Carrington,"  he  said,  sharply,  "lend  a  hand,  will 
you?"  And  before  Mrs.  Love  realized  his  intention 
he  had  lifted  her  down  to  Mr.  Carrington,  who  had 
sprung  to  help  him. 

159 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

"Go  upstairs  with  Theo,"  Etienne  commanded, 
good-naturedly,  as  though  speaking  to  a  wayward 
child.  "You've  been  up  too  late  as  it  is " 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Freddy  Love,  holding  his  sides 
with  laughter,  "too  late — and  too  high!" 

To  my  surprise  Mrs.  Love  went  with  me  willingly. 
"I'm  sorry  I've  been  troublesome,  Mrs.  Theo,"  she 
said,  as  we  reached  her  room,  "for  I've  taken  an  awful 
fancy  to  you.  Are  you  very  angry?  No,  I  see  you've 
forgiven  me  already.  There,  kiss  me  good-night,  and 
I'll  go  to  bed  and  dream  about  a  rose — a  rose  without 
thorns — you." 

And  I,  I  fell  to  wondering  why  Etienne  had  cared 
to  test  me,  by  surrounding  me  with  the  gayest  of  his 
gay  acquaintances?  For  that  I  was  being  tested,  I 
no  longer  doubted.  But  I  marvelled  at  his  imagining 
that  I  could  be  influenced  in  any  way  by  our  present 
guests. 


160 


XVI 

Early  Sunday  afternoon  Janey  and  I  slipped  away 
to  the  chapel,  for  a  quiet  hour  together.  I  was  glad 
to  be  alone  with  my  little  sister,  and  to  be  free  from 
Herbert's  society  for  a  time.  Since  the  picnic  he  had 
continued  to  devote  himself  to  me,  still  behaving  as 
though  there  had  been  a  past  of  love-making  between 
us.  Saucy  Mrs.  Love  had  amused  herself,  the  evening 
before,  by  pressing  a  rose  to  my  lips  and  then  flinging 
it  upon  the  grass,  inviting  Herbert  and  Monsieur  Ran- 
doce  to  scramble  for  it.  This  they  had  done,  more  like 
two  school-boys  than  grown  men,  losing  their  tempers 
and  fighting  so  fiercely  that  I  had  to  promise  a  fresh 
rose  to  Herbert  to  induce  him  to  behave.  For  Etienne 
was  approaching  and  I  could  not  let  the  fight  go  on. 

Later,  when  gay  Mrs.  Ainslie — Mr.  Carrington's 
cousin — made  a  pretty,  foolish  speech,  about  my  being 
unselfish,  Herbert  had  cried  out  that  unselfishness  was 
a  vice  when  carried  too  far,  adding: 

"My  cousin  immolates  herself  that  those  she  loves 
may  flourish.  Self-sacrifice  is  sickening  to  an  on- 
looker!" 

Never  had  I  known  his  love  of  teasing  so  insatiable, 
and  I  trembled  every  time  he  opened  his  lips,  not 
knowing  what  he  might  say  next. 

Janey  made  me  sit  on  Old  Vivian's  tombstone,  and 
flinging  herself  down  on  the  grass  before  me,  leaned 
her  golden  head  against  my  knee. 

"Look  at  the  river  and  mountains,  Theo,"  she  said ; 
"aren't  they  drowsy?  They're  taking  their  afternoon 
naps,  like  the  people  at  the  house.  It's  heavenly  here, 
all  alone  with  you  and  sleepy  old  Charles  Stuart.  I 

161 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

do  hope  I  mayn't  have  to  go  to  a  promiscuous  heaven; 
I  should  hate  it  so.  I  can't  forgive  people's  sins  when 
they're  near  me,  somehow " 

"May  I  join  you?"  said  Mr.  Brace,  strolling  up. 

"Yes,"  said  Janey,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  "oh,  yes!" 
Then,  in  warmer  tones,  "Perhaps  you  feel  sleepy,  like 
the  Chevalier,  Mr.  Brace.  Lie  right  down  beside  me, 
so,"  as  he  obeyed.  "Put  your  head  on  that  piece  of 
Theo's  gown — it  won't  pull  on  her,  there's  such  a  lot 
of  it  on  the  grass.  Now,  do  go  by-low ;  we  shan't  mind 
at  all.  Theo,  don't  you  speak,  and  he'll  be  off  in  a 
minute." 

Willing  to  humor  her,  and  seeing  through  her  trans- 
parent device,  to  lock  Mr.  Brace  out  of  our  party  with 
chains  of  slumber,  I  kept  silence. 

"Boh!"  cried  a  voice  behind  us,  suddenly,  and  a 
shower  of  rose  leaves  fell  into  my  lap. 

"Naughty  girl,  robbing  my  rose-garden!"  I  said, 
and  smiled  up  into  Mrs.  Love's  mischievous  face;  for 
she  it  was,  and  she  alone. 

"Bracy-pacy — as  I'm  a  living  sinner!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "I  made  cocksure  it  was  you  and  your  ever- 
lasting cousin,  spooning;  and  crept  up  as  softly,  to 
give  you  a  sickening  scare.  Man's  legs,  and  a  yellow 
head  against  your  knee;  I  was  so  sure  I  had  you! 
Heavens,  what  a  joke  against  me!"  and  she  laughed. 

"Theo  makes  allowances  for  everybody,"  said  Jane, 
who  had  risen  and  now  stood  facing  Mrs.  Love,  her 
cheeks  crimson,  her  eyes  flashing;  "yes,  even  for  you, 
you  wicked  thing,  but  I  shan't!" 

"Good  Lord,  Janey!"  ejaculated  the  startled  Mrs. 
Love. 

"Don't  cuss  at  me,"  cried  the  child  furiously, 
stamping  her  tiny  foot,  "for  I  shan't  permit  it!  You 
talk  in  that  horrid  way  because  it  makes  your  silly 
husband  laugh,  and  gives  you  a  chance  to  say  what 
you  really  think  as  if  'twas  only  a  joke — and  it's 

162 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

mean ;  yes,  mean !  And  my  Theo  is  not  in  love  with 
Herbert  Fayne,  though  you  like  to  pretend  so;  and  it's 
not  nice  of  you,  but  very,  very  nasty.  He  only  came 
here  a  few  weeks  ago,  and  she  hadn't  seen  him  before 
since  she  was  thirteen,  though  that  Miss  Mabel  Alien- 
by  does  say  it's  an  old  affair.  Yes,  Theo,  I  heard  her 
say  so,  and  that  you'd  been  engaged  on  and  off  to 
him,  'played  fast  and  loose'  she  said — as  if  you  were 
a  wicked  cat — for  years;  and  I  told  her  she  h'ed,  only 
politely,  Theo.  I  just  said,  'Miss  Allenby,  you  are 
telling  the  wickedest  falsehood  I  ever  heard,'  but  she 
didn't  want  to  believe  me.  Mrs.  Love,  my  sister  Theo 
may  have  flirted  once,  but  she  thinks  frisky  matrons 
are  vulgar,  and —  O  Theo,  I  wish  you'd  make  her  go 
away!"  and  flinging  herself  into  my  arms,  the  child 
burst  into  tears. 

"Isn't  she  splendid?"  said  Mrs.  Love,  softly.  "Isn't 
she  grand !  Janey,  Janey,  forgive  me,"  falling  on  her 
knees  beside  little  Jane.  "I  love  your  Theo  dearly, 
yes,  dearly,  and  I  was  only  talking  nonsense,  child. 
Mrs.  Theo's  an  angel.  See,  I'm  down  upon  my  knees !" 

Janey,  in  nowise  placated,  put  out  her  hand  and 
thrust  Mrs.  Love  away. 

"Now  you're  making  fun  of  her,"  she  sobbed,  "and 
that's  your  hateful  way  of  getting  out  of  it.  You  said 
you  thought  that  Mr.  Brace's  nice,  good  legs  were 
Herbert's ;  you  did,  you  did,  and  took  my  head  for  his 
— against  Theo's  knee,  too!" 

"I  did,"  said  Mrs.  Love,  soberly,  "and  I'm  ashamed 
of  myself,  Jane.  Mr.  Eappelle  will  be  here  directly, 
so  if  you  don't  want  him  to  shy  off  the  bank  with 
horror,  you'd  better  dry  your  eyes." 

"If  he  was  coming,  why  did  you  come?"  persisted 
the  irate  Jane,  but  she  dried  her  eyes.  "He  loves 
Theo  a  great  deal  better  than  you  do,  and  knows  her 
nice  ways.  He  knows  she'd  never  do  anything  to  dis- 
please me  and  him." 

163 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

"Don't  you  like  your  cousin  Herbert,  child?"  asked 
Mrs.  Love. 

Janey  colored.  "I  don't  when  he  isn't  'round,"  she 
said,  shamefacedly,  "but  when  he  is,  I  do." 

"I  came  out  here  to  do  a  kind  thing,"  said  Mrs. 
Love,  looking  meaningly  at  me,  "and  to  make  myself 
agreeable " 

"Agreeable,"  said  Jane,  interrupting  her,  "agree- 
able! If  you  went  to  the  Cannibal  Islands  and  the 
cannibals  offered  you  a  piece  of  cooked  infant,  should 
you  think  them  agreeable?" 

"But  they  would  mean  to  be,"  I  broke  in,  seeing 
my  chance  of  reconciling  the  two.  "They  would  be 
offering  their  choicest  viand  to  a  needy  traveller. 
Mrs.  Love  has  intended  to  please  me " 

"I  understand,"  said  Mrs.  Love.  "I've  been  a  fool. 
Next  time  I'll  trust  to  my  instinct,  and  not  swallow 
a  jealous  girl's  infernal  gossip." 

"Jealous?"  I  questioned,  in  surprise,  and  then  be- 
came aware  that  Etienne  was  close  behind  me. 

"Who  is  jealous?"  he  asked,  looking  keenly  about 
as  if  in  search  of  someone. 

"Not  you,  you  lucky  dog,"  said  Mrs.  Love,  briskly, 
"nor  my  Freddy,  because  neither  one  of  you  has  the 
chance.  Hush,  here  comes  Bracey-pacey" — Mr. 
Brace  had  fled  from  the  storm.  "Don't  let  him  sus- 
pect my  heart's  not  his!" 

Mr.  Brace,  with  many  blushes,  now  came  to  say  that 
he  had  been  sent  for,  to  administer  the  last  sacrament 
to  the  wife  of  a  laborer,  in  the  brick-yard  down  the 
river. 

"She  isn't  really  dying,  I  think,"  he  said,  gently, 
"but  if  she  imagines  so,  she  is  in  need  of  aid,  poor 
soul.  About  evening  service,  Mrs.  Rappelle,  I  doubt 
if  I  can  get  back  in  time " 

I  begged  him  not  to  think  of  returning,  and  he 
went  away.  The  rest  of  us  sat  and  chatted  till  it  was 

164 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

time  for  afternoon  tea,  which  was  to  be  served  in  the 
rose  garden,  grown  my  favorite  haunt. 

As  we  were  returning  homeward  through  the  thick 
belt  of  woodland  that  lay  between  flower  garden  and 
chapel — slowly,  because  of  the  charm  of  its  dense  shade 
and  sweet  woodsy  odors — we  met  Mrs.  Allenby,  ac- 
companied by  Herbert  Fayne.  She  was  talking  ear- 
nestly, while  he  lent  an  attentive  ear. 

"Here's  a  state  of  things!"  whispered  Mrs.  Love, 
winking  at  me;  "O'Leary  had  better  watch  out." 

"I  never  saw  you  coming  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Allen- 
by, "I  was  so  busy  talking  to  your  cousin,  Mrs.  Rap- 
pelle." 

"Awfully  interesting  topic,"  said  Herbert,  carefully 
stifling  a  huge  yawn,  and  looking  woe-begone  with 
boredom.  "Mrs.  Allenby  has  been  telling  me  about 
her  jewels,  Dolly." 

As  he  used  this  old  pet  name  for  me  I  glanced 
quickly  at  Etienne,  but  he  was  looking  at  Mrs.  Alien- 
by,  and  apparently  did  not  hear,  or  care.  Mrs.  Love 
pinched  my  arm,  murmuring,  "What  sand!" 

"The  worst  of  owning  jewels  is,"  said  Mrs.  Alien- 
by,  lowering  her  voice  and  glancing  searchingly 
around  to  see  that  no  eavesdropper  loitered  near,  "the 
worst  of  having  valuable  jewels,  I  mean,  is  to  know 
where  to  keep  them. 

"Monsieur  Randoce  must  keep  what  he  holds  most 
dear  in  his  breast-pocket,"  said  Herbert.  "He  slaps 
it,  every  now  and  then,  to  make  sure  it's  there." 

"Which  side?"  asked  Mrs.  Love,  eagerly. 

"Heart  side,"  was  the  answer;  "so  it's  probably  a 
love-token." 

"A  love-token!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Love,  and  fell  into 
a  reverie. 

"Weary  little  cousin!", said  Herbert,  gently,  stoop- 
ing to  look  into  Janey's  face.  "The  afternoon  is  hot, 
and  walking  tiresome  to  little  people;  let  me  pick  you 

165 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

up — there!"  and  he  lifted  her  carefully  in  his  strong 
arms,  and  carried  her  lightly  and  easily  along. 

"I  oughtn't  to  let  you,  Herbert,"  said  the  child, 
looking  worried,  "because  I'm  not  really  grateful,  I'm 
afraid." 

"I  don't  want  gratitude,"  said  Herbert,  with  one 
of  his  sunny  smiles;  "I  want  Janey  to  be  comfortable." 

My  heart  melted.  I  forgave  him  his  nonsense  of 
the  night  before.  "You  are  very  good  to  her,  Bertie," 
I  said,  softly. 

He  looked  at  me  steadily  across  Jane's  shoulder.  I 
failed  to  understand  the  expression  in  his  heavy-lidded 
eyes.  The  next  moment  Mr.  Carrington  hailed  us  from 
the  entrance  to  the  rose  garden,  asking  where  we  had 
been. 

"To  sit  on  the  gravestones  near  the  chapel,"  ex- 
plained Jane,  from  her  high  perch  in  Herbert's  arms. 
"But  we  didn't  get  to  my  mother's  grave,  because 
people  came,  and  we  knew  she  wouldn't  like  it."  Then, 
lowering  her  voice,  "She  likes  just  Theo  and  me  to 
come  and  sit  by  her,  just  we  two.  You  see,"  confi- 
dentially, "she  isn't  in  any  cofiin.  Theo  promised  to 
bury  her  without  one,  and  Theo  always  keeps  her 
word.  No,  Theo  wrapped  her  in  her  own  long  cloak, 
and  over  that  she  draped  our  country's  flag — the 
noblest  covering,  don't  you  think?  I  do.  I  remem- 
ber the  day  so  well,"  looking  dreamily  into  the  dis- 
tance. "It  had  been  bitter  cold,  but  that  day  was 
warmer.  Theo  got  down  into  the  grave  herself,  and 
made  my  little  Mummy  a  bed  of  fir  branches  and  laid 
her  on  it.  No  one  but  Theo  would  have  done  it, 
Etienne  says." 

"For  once  I  agree  with  him,"  murmured  Herbert, 
aside  to  me. 

"You  see,"  continued  Lydia's  little  daughter,  "my 
mother  loved  Theo  better  even  than  she  did  me,  and 
she  wanted  to  have  everything  easy,  so  that  she  could 

166 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

get  up  and  haunt  any  person  who  might  try  to  hurt 
her.  My  mother  wasn't  very  strong,  and  screwed- 
down  coffin  lids  are  hard  to  open." 

"Janey,  dear  child!"  remonstrated  Mr.  Carring- 
ton. 

"Then,  she  expected  really  to  stay  and  sleep  near 
the  chapel,"  not  heeding  him,  "but  at  last  she 
changed  her  mind,  and  went  to  heaven  in  Theo's 
arms." 

"A  heaven  indeed!"  said  Herbert,  under  his 
breath. 

"Janey,"  said  Mr.  Carrington,  frightened  by  the 
child's  expression,  "don't  you  like  ice-cream?  Merle 
is  bringing  out  a  big  freezer  full!" 

"Ice-cream!  Oh,  how  lovely!"  exclaimed  Jane. 
"Come,  Herbert,  come,  Theo.  Why,  look  at  Mrs. 
Love!  What's  she  up  to  now?" 

All  the  members  of  the  house-party  had  assembled 
under  the  big  trees  of  the  rose  garden,  and  were 
lounging  in  basket-chairs  and  hammocks  or  wander- 
ing to  and  fro,  chatting  with  the  different  groups.  At 
the  moment  that  we  arrived  at  the  opening  in  the 
hedge,  Mrs.  Love  led  Monsieur  Randoce  into  the  centre 
of  the  circle  of  people,  and  calling  out  loudly  that  she 
was  about  to  show  a  newly  learned  trick  in  magic, 
asked  Mabel  Allenby  to  be  her  assistant. 

"You  weel  not  hurt  me,  no?"  said  Monsieur  Ran- 
doce, smiling,  and  not  averse  to  being  the  object  of 
everyone's  attention. 

"No,"  was  the  answer,  "but  I've  learned  how  to 
tell  what  a  man's  thinking  of  all  the  time,  if  he'll  let 
me  put  him  through  certain  paces." 

Monsieur  Randoce  looked,  as  if  involuntarily,  at 
me.  Herbert  muttered  something  I  could  not  catch. 

"Set  me  down,  please,  Herbert,"  said  Janey ;  "you 
squeeze  me  too  tight,"  and,  gaining  her  footing,  she 
slipped  her  hand  into  mine. 

167 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

Monsieur  Randoce  was  now  told  to  tilt  his  head 
backward,  and  look  upward  through  the  branches  of 
the  trees,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  thrust  his  arms 
stiffly  behind  him.  He  obeyed,  and  Mabel  Allenby, 
taking  his  hands  in  hers,  held  them  tightly. 

"Now  count  ten  as  loud  as  you  can,  in  French," 
commanded  Mrs.  Love. 

"Un,  deux,  trois "  He  broke  off  with  an  ex- 
clamation of  dismay,  for  Mrs.  Love,  slipping  her  hand 
into  his  breast-pocket,  had  deftly  removed  something 
with  which  she  quickly  ran  away. 

Her  victim  made  no  effort  to  pursue  her  and  recover 
his  lost  treasure ;  pale,  bewildered,  he  stood  quite  still, 
his  hands  pressed  close  against  the  emptied  pocket,  and 
stared  beseechingly  at  me.  Bertie,  on  the  contrary, 
light-footed  as  a  deer,  was  already  close  upon  Mrs. 
Love,  who  had  stopped  to  examine  her  booty,  and,  to 
my  very  great  surprise,  Etienne  had  followed  her  as 
swiftly,  and  arrived  beside  the  volatile  young  woman 
as  soon  as  he.  She  had  doubled  through  the  trees — 
imagining  one  of  her  pursuers  to  be  Monsieur  Kandoce 
— toward  the  hedge  near  which  Jane  and  I  were 
standing,  with  Mr.  Carrington,  and  when  she  paused 
in  her  flight  she  was  very  close  to  us.  As  she  glanced 
at  what  she  held  in  her  hand  she  uttered  a  cry  of  real 
dismay,  and  cast  a  frightened  glance  at  me.  Etienne 
and  Herbert,  coming  up  together,  looked  over  her 
shoulder,  and  saw  what  she  had.  Both  men  instantly 
snatched  at  it,  but  Etienne's  fingers  closed  over  it 
first.  Herbert,  coloring  fiercely,  tried  to  wrest  it  from 
him;  but  Etienne,  his  face  set  like  iron,  said  some- 
thing in  a  low  tone,  and  Herbert,  turning  abruptly, 
stood  aside. 

Mrs.  Love  ran  to  me,  her  face  colorless,  her  eyes 
bright  with  tears.  "O  Theo!"  she  gasped,  "I  had  no 
idea " 

"Control  yourself,"  said  Herbert,  sharply,  coming 
168 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

after  her.  "You've  done  harm  enough  as  it  is,  Heaven 
knows.  Damn  the  French  thief!" 

"Hugh!"  I  said;  for  Etienne,  standing  close  by 
Monsieur  Randoce,  had  begun  to  speak,  in  clear,  far- 
reaching  tones. 

"Don't  take  it  so  hard,  Randoce,"  he  said,  an  odd 
smile  about  his  thin  lips.  "Mrs.  Love  has  only  an- 
ticipated you  by  a  few  moments.  Monsieur  Randoce," 
turning  to  the  others,  "had  hoped  to  show  you,  this 
afternoon,  one  of  the  very  best  things  he  has  ever  done, 
celebrated  artist  that  he  justly  is — a  miniature  of  my 
wife.  I  begged  him  to  paint  it  for  me  some  weeks 
ago.  I  consider  it  perfect — even  that  unimportant 
trifle,  the  frame,  shows  an  artist's  taste." 

Everyone  began  to  examine  and  admire,  while 
Monsieur  Randoce  stood  like  one  who  dreams,  scarce 
seeming  to  hear  the  congratulations  that  poured  in 
upon  him.  I  moved,  with  Mrs.  Love,  who  still  looked 
white  and  frightened,  to  a  rustic  sofa  and  sat  down, 
feeling  unable  to  stand.  I  was  as  terrified  as  she,  for 
Miss  Allenby  had  just  admired,  in  staccato  tones,  a 
true-lover's  knot  which  surmounted  the  frame.  What 
might  not  Etienne  be  thinking,  and  were  our  guests 
deceived  by  his  ready  wit? 

"Look  not  upon  the  wine  when  it  is  red,"  mur- 
mured Hervey,  placing  a  cup  and  saucer  in  my  trem- 
bling fingers,  "but  sherry  looks  like  tea,  and  drink  it 
quickly,  dear  lady.  Gather  your  roses  while  it's  May, 
of  course,  but  in  July  a  cloud  no  bigger  than  a  man's 
fist  can  do  damage.  Those  who  play  with  edged  tools," 
a  side-glance  of  deep  reproach  at  Mrs.  Love,  "cut  their 
neighbor's  fingers  badly  sometimes.  A  word  to  the 
wisely  willing  is  sufficient,  but  how  to  knock  sense 
into  a  witless  foreigner  beats  me!" 

The  next  moment  he  was  offering  Monsieur  Ran- 
doce champagne,  and  saying  something  to  him  in  a  low 
tone.  What  it  was  I  never  heard,  but  it  acted  upon 

169 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

the  dazed  Frenchman  like  an  electric  shock,  and  he 
instantly  began  to  behave  as  he  should,  saying  what 
was  necessary  to  his  admirers. 

Etienne  did  not  approach  me,  nor  look  at  me,  and 
when  I  entered  the  drawing-room  before  dinner  and 
found  him  there,  seated  in  a  huge  armchair,  apparently 
buried  in  thought,  he  merely  rose  to  offer  it  me;  and 
when,  declining  it,  I  took  a  chair  by  the  window,  he 
sank  back  into  both  place  and  reverie,  seeming  to 
forget  my  presence. 

Herbert,  entering  a  moment  after,  failed  to  see 
him,  and  coming  quickly  to  me,  said: 

"My  rose,  Dolly,  the  one  you  promised  me  if  I 
would  be  good.  May  I  have  it  now?" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "the  garden  is  full — help  yourself." 

"Dora!"  he  exclaimed,  a  world  of  tender  reproach 
in  his  voice. 

"That  in  your  hair  may  please  Mr.  Fayne,  my  dear," 
said  Etienne,  rising  suddenly  and  coming  close 
to  me. 

Herbert  started,  in  spite  of  his  habitual  self-control, 
showing  but  too  plainly  his  ignorance  of  Etienne's 
near  neighborhood. 

"My  fingers  are  clumsy,"  said  Etienne,  stooping 
over  me  and  gently  unfastening  the  flower  from  my 
hair,  "but  Theo  is  accustomed  to  them.  There,"  plac- 
ing the  rose  in  my  hand,  "put  that  in  Mr.  Fayne's 
buttonhole." 

I  obeyed  silently.  Herbert's  face  was  colorless;  I 
knew  he  was  in  a  passion  of  rage. 

"She  needs  no  ornament,  does  she,  Fayne?"  Etienne 
went  on,  putting  his  hand  under  my  chin  and  tilting 
my  face  up  as  though  to  look  deep  into  my  eyes.  "She 
turns  all  our  heads  with  what  nature  has  given  her," 
and  leaning  down  he  kissed  my  cheek.  "Don't  blush 
so  furiously,  Theo!  There's  no  one  here  save  your 
cousin;  surely  you  don't  mind  him?" 

170 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

But  my  cousin  had  hurried  away.  Etienne's  face 
changed;  it  was  no  longer  smiling,  but  sombre. 

"Stop  in  the  library,  please,  on  your  way  upstairs 
to-night,"  he  said,  sternly;  and,  our  guests  entering, 
my  mauvais  quart  d'heure  was  over — and  I  had  to 
prepare  for  a  worse  to  come. 

I  had  dressed  so  carefully  for  dinner,  hoping  by 
looking  my  best  to  soften  Etienne's  hard  thoughts  of 
me.  I  glanced  ruefully  down  at  my  exquisite  crepe 
de  chine;  the  pretty  white  frock,  the  long  string  of 
pearls,  the  creamy  rose  in  my  hair,  had  been  worn  in 
vain.  The  rose  had  gone — and  with  it  my  hope  of 
escaping  my  husband's  displeasure. 

But  I  pleased  some  among  my  guests  more  than  ever 
before.  To  Mrs.  Allenby,  the  flirtatious  Mrs.  Ainslie, 
Major  O'Leary,  and  several  others,  I  had  evidently 
become  an  object  of  much  interest.  The  two  women 
gave  me  sympathetic  glances.  I  felt  I  hated  them. 
Mrs.  Love,  on  the  contrary,  drooped  like  a  dispirited 
bird,  and  was  so  miserable  over  the  result  of  her  prank, 
that  had  I  not  already  forgiven  her,  I  must  have  done 
so  then. 

I  smiled  upon  all — graciously,  impartially.  I  made 
a  point  of  saying  something  pleasant  to  each  one;  not 
excepting  Monsieur  Randoce,  who,  sombre  and  hilari- 
ous by  turns,  showed  but  too  plainly  the  irritated  con- 
dition of  his  nerves.  And  all  the  time,  while  laugh- 
ing, jesting,  I  was  thinking  of  the  coming  interview 
in  the  library.  What  would  Etienne  say?  I  knew 
that  Monsieur  Randoce,  too,  was  thinking  of  Etienne ; 
I  saw  him  stealthily  watching  his  calm  face — a  face 
that  rarely  betrayed  its  owner's  thoughts. 

But  though  in  doubt  as  to  what  punishment  was  to 
be  mine,  I  knew  quite  well  what  would  happen  in 
regard  to  the  French  artist.  Etienne  would  listen  to 
no  explanation — did  Monsieur  Randoce  seek  to  offer 
any — but,  having  said  that  the  miniature  had  been 

171 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

ordered  for  himself,  would  oblige  Monsieur  Randoce 
to  accept,  not  only  this  statement,  but  also  payment  in 
full  for  his  work.  Of  this  I  felt  sure. 

I  was  as  proud  of  Etienne  as  I  was  ashamed  of  my- 
self. Why  had  I  yielded  to  my  wicked  fondness  for 
making  everybody  satisfied  with  themselves,  their  sur- 
roundings— and  with  me?  Why  had  I  smiled,  and 
pretended  not  to  understand  foolish  speeches,  flirta- 
tious glances,  when  I  ought  to  have  frowned,  and  ad- 
ministered rebuke  ?  Ah,  why  indeed !  For  failing  to 
take  Herbert's  nonsense  seriously  I  could  not  blame 
myself,  yet  how  had  it  been  interpreted?  Truly  for 
the  feet  of  a  daughter  of  the  Braithes  the  path  of  mat- 
rimony was  hard.  How  might  Lilian  behave  should 
she  ever  marry?  Then,  cutting  short  my  musings,  I 
signaled  to  Mrs.  Allenby,  at  Etienne's  right  hand,  and 
retreated  with  my  flock  of  doves  to  the  great  stone 
portico  outside  the  drawing-room  windows. 

The  night  was  very  lovely,  the  river  flooded  with 
moonlight.  The  little  waves  rippled  southward,  show- 
ing that  the  tide  was  on  the  ebb,  flowing  gently,  so 
gently  to  the  sea.  When  the  men  joined  us  there  was 
music  to  please  those  whose  minds  were  attuned  to 
pleasure.  I  seated  myself  far  from  corners  shadowy 
or  remote,  fearing  that  Monsieur  Randoce,  or  Her- 
bert, might  desire  to  indulge  in  sentimental  discourse. 
I  was  unhappy,  and  in  no  mood  for  conversation  of 
any  kind ;  most  certainly  not  for  the  fencing  sort  that 
would  be  necessary  with  Monsieur  Randoce,  nor  for 
the  exchange  of  angry  incivilities  that  must  inevitably 
result  from  any  intimate  talk  with  Herbert.  I  found 
the  long  evening  dull,  yet  it  slipped  away  all  too  quick- 
ly for  me,  and  I  crossed  the  hall  very,  very  slowly, 
when  I  went  to  keep  my  appointment  with  Etienne. 

The  library  was  but  dimly  lighted ;  Old  Vivian,  seen 
across  its  dusky  vastness,  seemed  as  if  starting  from  his 
frame.  His  blue  eyes  looked  into  mine  with  an  ex- 

1Y2 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

pression  of  sneering  contempt.  Herbert  resembled 
him  far  too  closely.  I  wished  that  Lydia  had  not  be- 
lieved so  firmly  that  those  who  are  alike  in  feature 
are  alike  in  heart,  mind,  and  soul.  Surely  Herbert  was 
merely  foolish,  not  wicked ;  surely  in  him  the  Braithe 
vices  had  softened  into  trivial  faults !  Where  Old 
Vivian  would  have  meant  serious  mischief,  surely  Her- 
bert but  intended  to  tease. 

I  sank  into  a  chair,  feeling  so  very  weary,  so  out  of 
patience,  with  Monsieur  Randoce,  with  Herbert — with 
myself.  When  Etienne  entered,  and  closed  both  doors 
behind  him,  I  had  reached  the  state  of  not  caring  very 
much  what  he  might  say  or  do,  yet  his  first  words 
caused  an  instant  revulsion  of  feeling. 

"I  asked  you  to  stop  in  here  on  your  way  upstairs, 
Theo,"  he  said,  and  he  did  not  sit  down,  "as  I  think  it 
would  be  well  for  you  to  make  your  rounds  to-night. 
We  have  had  such  warm  weather  that  the  walls  must 
be  heated  through.  I  will  go  with  you.  It  will  take 
but  a  few  moments,  and,  after,  there  will  be  time  to 
speak — of  other  matters." 

For  a  moment  I  failed  to  understand  him,  then  I  re- 
membered the  foolish  old  custom  of  the  House  to  which 
he  alluded,  and  crimsoned  with  indignation.  It  had  al- 
ways been  considered  the  duty  of  the  Head  of  the  Fam- 
ily to  examine,  once  a  year,  the  By- Ways  of  Braithe, 
in  order  to  see  whether  their  secrets  had  been  dis- 
covered, and  if  the  hidden  springs  and  locks  were  in 
good  condition — in  short,  to  make  sure  that  all  was 
in  readiness  in  case  of  need.  I  had  never  known  just 
when  my  father  performed  this  absurd  rite,  but  we 
all  could  make  a  pretty  shrewd  guess  as  to  when  he 
was  contemplating  it,  because  of  the  particularly  evil 
state  of  his  temper  at  that  time.  It  had  not  entered 
my  mind  that  anyone  could  possibly  think  it  necessary 
for  me  to  keep  up  this  ridiculous  custom — pray  who 
might  now  ever  need  to  glide  through  the  By- Ways 

173 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

for  dear  life's  sake?  Indeed,  I  doubted  if  they  ever 
had  been  used,  even  in  the  time  of  Old  Vivian. 

Etienne's  devotion  to  the  old  traditions  had  always 
annoyed  me,  so  it  was  perfectly  illogical  on  my  part 
to  resent  his  breaking  through  this  one,  in  not  only 
reminding  me  of  it,  but  also  in  offering  to  share  it 
with  me.  Yet  I  did  resent  it,  and  felt  myself  stiffen 
in  every  fibre  as,  holding  myself  haughtily  erect,  I 
declined  his  companionship,  and  ignored  his  sugges- 
tion that  the  time  had  come.  I  had  thought  he 
would  feel  snubbed,  or  show  displeasure  at  my 
answer,  but  he  only  said,  with  cold  insistence : 

"I  must  beg  you  to  understand  that  I  cannot  allow 
you  to  go  alone." 

"You  wish  me  to  break  my  oath?"  I  asked — and 
I  was  very  angry. 

"It  does  not  hold  with  me,"  he  said,  adding,  I 
thought  contemptuously,  "you  would  be  panic- 
stricken,  shut  in  with  bats  and  rats,  between  the  walls 
— all  alone." 

"The  oath  holds  with  everyone,"  I  said,  haughtily, 
"unless  under  certain  conditions.  When  I  go,  I  go  at 
a  time  of  my  own  choosing — and  alone.  It  is  odd  that 
a  Rappelle  should  have  forgotten  this." 

A  hot  color  surged  across  his  face;  it  was  as  if  I  had 
struck  him  with  a  whip. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  icily,  "for  reminding  me  of 
my  proper  place — of  the  difference  in  our  positions. 
As,  however,  I  happen  to  have  assumed  the  responsi- 
bility of  your  personal  safety,  I  must,  as  your 
husband,  forbid  you  to  explore  the  By- Ways  with- 
out me." 

"Meaning  the  custom  dies?"  I  demanded,  ashamed 
of  my  sensation  of  relief,  and,  because  of  it,  the  more 
indignant  with  Etienne. 

"Unless  I  should  need  to  crawl  away  from  justice, 
like  a  sneaking  robber,"  he  said,  sarcastically,  "when  I 

174 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

will  beg  your  forgiveness  for  having  dared  to  take  care 
of  you,  and  ask  you  to  take  care  of  me.  Perhaps " 

A  sharp  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  him.  I  won- 
dered, as  I  heard  it,  who  had  had  the  courage  to  open 
the  outside  one  of  baize — and  before  he  had  time  to 
say  "Come  in,"  Herbert  entered. 

"Excuse  lack  of  ceremony,"  said  my  cousin,  glanc- 
ing quickly,  and  anxiously,  at  me,  "but  you  must 
both  come  and  look  at  the  gorgeous  jewels  the  house 
holds!  The  women  have  got  them  all  out,  on  show." 

"At  your  request  ?"  demanded  Etienne,  sharply. 

"Yes,"  said  Herbert,  his  sunny  smile  irradiating  his 
handsome  face,  "at  my  request,  Rappelle.  I  wanted 
to  ask  you  to  get  the  Gypsy's  Opal,  Theo,  but  Lilian 
tells  me  she  had  it  last,  and  has  mislaid  it." 

"Lilian  had  it?    When,  Herbert?"  I  asked,  quickly. 

"Last  night,  I  believe.  She  wanted  to  see  if  it  was 
becoming  (preparing  for  wedding  presents,  perhaps)" 
— his  smile  became  a  sneer — "and  lost  it,  in  her  care- 
less way.  Don't  worry,  Dolly — it  will  turn  up  all 
right,  I'm  sure." 


175 


xvn 

I  did  not  get  upstairs  until  very  late,  and  then  I 
spent  an  hour  in  the  Cell  of  Flagellation  before  going 
to  bed.  There  was,  indeed,  need  that  I  should  pray 
long  and  earnestly  that  night,  for  forgiveness  of  my 
many,  many  shortcomings.  When,  at  last,  I  allowed 
myself  to  lay  my  weary  head  upon  my  pillow,  I  ex- 
pected to  fall  asleep  at  once  from  over-fatigue;  but 
tormenting  thoughts  kept  me  wide  awake  till  dawn. 

Herbert  had  entered  the  library,  in  spite  of  the 
closed  baize  door,  to  protect  me  from  Etienne's  dis- 
pleasure, and  had  persuaded  the  women  to  show  their 
jewels  at  that  late  hour,  in  order  to  get  the  necessary 
excuse.  This  I  knew,  and  I  feared  Etienne  suspected. 
Would  Etienne  be  foolish  enough  to  credit  the  absurd 
gossip  about  Herbert  and  me?  Then  I  began  to  fret 
about  Monsieur  Randoce;  about  the  mislaying  of  my 
opal ;  about  Etienne's  thoughts  in  regard  to  the  minia- 
ture; about  everything,  in  short,  that  had  happened 
or  that  was  likely  to  happen,  until,  at  dawn,  I  fell  into 
an  uneasy  sleep,  nightmare  ridden,  from  which  I  was 
thankful  to  be  roused  by  my  little  Josette. 

She  brought  the  news  that  Etienne  and  Monsieur 
Randoce  had  gone  to  town  by  the  early  train.  I  was 
very  much  relieved.  The  evil  hour  of  explanations 
was  thus  indefinitely  postponed,  and  Monsieur  Ran- 
doce definitely  got  rid  of.  Curiously  enough,  every- 
body appeared  the  gayer  for  this  departure.  It  was 
as  though  the  atmosphere  had  suddenly  grown  lighter. 
Infected  by  this  change  in  the  social  oxygen,  Mrs. 
Ainslie  suggested  a  driving  party  by  moonlight. 

176 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"Is  Etienne  coming  to-night,  Theo?"  Lilian  asked. 

I  did  not  know,  and  disliked  very  much  saying  so. 

"Probably  not,  Miss  Lilian,"  said  Hervey,  before 
my  ignorance  could  be  noticed.  "Still,  since  nothing 
but  the  unexpected  is  likely  to  happen,  lightning  never 
strikes  a  man  twice  in  the  same  spot — once  being  gen- 
erally enough  to  kill — I'd  half  count  Mr.  Rappelle  in, 
and  half  out." 

Having  finished  this  lengthy  answer,  and  diverted 
the  attention  of  the  entire  company  to  himself,  Hervey 
began  to  serve  the  breakfast  with  his  customary  as- 
siduity. 

"I  heard  of  some  people  at  a  house-party  going  to 
a  dance  in  a  charming  way,"  said  Mrs.  Ainslie,  who 
was  absorbed  in  her  own  suggestion.  "They  went  in 
masks  and  dominos,  drawing  for  partners,  and  didn't 
know  whom  they  were  to  dance  with  till  they  got  to 
the  house.  They  managed  by  choosing  ribbons,  before 
they  met,  and  pinning  them  on  their  shoulders.  The 
blue  man  took  a  blue  girl — and  so  on." 

"We  might  draw  for  wagons  that  way,"  said  Mr. 
Carrington,  looking  at  Lilian.  "Rappelle  has  several 
single  traps  in  the  stables." 

Everybody  laughed,  and  Mr.  Carrington  blushed 
furiously. 

"Great  heavens!"  ejaculated  Nelly  Love,  with  a 
frightened  start.  "What  if,  instead  of  Bracey — don't 
color  up  so,  my  cherub — an  unkind  Providence  should 
send  me  off  to  drive,  alone,  with  Bandhar?  I  couldn't 
stand  it,  Bandhar,  my  boy,  I  really  couldn't!  You'd 
have  to  let  me  choose  again." 

Mr.  Bandhar  grinned;  he  did  not  believe  her.  He 
was  convinced  that  every  woman  present  secretly 
hoped  to  have  him  for  her  Jehu.  His  conceit  was  sc 
intensely  amusing,  that  before  I  knew  what  I  was 
about  I  was  gazing  at  him  wistfully,  and  not  until  I 
had  enjoyed  the  simper  of  gratified  vanity  that  my 

177 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

glance  elicited  did  I  realize  how  outrageously  I  was 
misbehaving.  A  frantic  giggle  from  Nelly  Love  told 
me  of  my  fault. 

"Stop  ogling  me,  Billy  Bandhar!"  she  cried.  "Can't 
you  see  you're  making  the  little  parson  green  with 
jealousy?  He'll  forget  his  cloth  and  fight  you,  if  you 
don't  stop  staring." 

"I  ain't  looking  at  you,"  said  Mr.  Bandhar,  indig- 
nantly, "I'm  looking  at  Mrs.  Rap " 

"Hush,  hush,  you  old  Ananias,  you!  Next  thing 
you'll  be  dropping  down  dead  among  the  breakfast 
dishes,  just  like  old  thing-um-bob  himself." 

"Is  that  a  blasphemous  remark,  Theo?"  whispered 
Jane,  at  my  elbow.  "But  no,  I  know  it's  not,  because 
you  can  talk  light-tonguedly  about  all  the  bad  people 
in  the  Bible,  the  devil  and  others — why,  so  they  do 
of  some  of  the  good  ones,  too!  Adam,  now.  You  re- 
member the  conundrum,  Theo?  It  ends:  'I  don't 
care  A — dam!'  And  the  other,  about  'shutting  out 
the  dam — p  air!'  I  think  they're  silly  and,  after  all, 
Adam  was  dull,  and  Eve  disobedient,  poor  thing; 
so  except  for  having  children  they  didn't  count  for 
much.  Poor,  poor  Eve !  To  begin  with  stupid  Adam 
and  a  slimy  serpent,  and  end  up  with  borning  a  mur- 
derer—  No,  Mrs.  Love,  I'd  rather  not  say  out  what 
I've  been  telling  Theo.  It's  uninteresting,  and  it 
might  hurt  people's  feelings."  She  looked  at  Mr. 
Brace.  He  smiled  back  at  her.  "May  I  go  now, 
Theo,  please?"  she  said,  then  whispered  hurriedly:  "I 
have  turns  of  thinking  him  feeble-minded,  when  he 
smiles  so  foolishly,  and  I  ought  to  respect  the  clergy 
if  I'm  going  to  be  a  truly  religious  child." 

"What  do  two  knives  mean?"  asked  Lilian,  sudden- 
ly. "Theo's  put  two  on  her  plate  without  knowing  it." 

"Nothing,  Miss  Braithe,"  said  Mr.  Carrington, 
soothingly,  "just  nothing  at  all." 

"They  must  mean  something,"  mused  Lilian,  puck- 
178 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

ering  her  pretty  forehead.  "I  wish  I  could  remem- 
ber." 

"A  hidjeous  mistake  and  a  gory  quarrel,"  said  Nelly 
Love,  looking  wicked. 

"Keally?"  questioned  Lilian,  earnestly. 

"Never  mind,  Lilian,"  I  said,  smiling.  "One  mis- 
take the  more  won't  count  with  me,  I  make  so  many 
daily — and  I'm  a  splendid  fighter,  so  I'm  sure  to  come 
off  best  in  any  quarrel." 

"He  who  fights  and  runs  away,  will  live  to  fight 
another  David,"  muttered  Hervey,  sotto  wee,  behind 
my  chair.  "Though  why,  seeing  Goliath  dropped 
down  dead  then  and  there — some  sayings  are  peculiar." 

That  evening  Lilian  brought  me  the  ribbon  I  was 
to  wear,  saying  she  had  chosen  it  for  me. 

"The  arrangement  is  awfully  clever,  Theo,  though 
I  say  it  myself.  I  made  bows  that  would  go  well  with 
the  girls'  dresses,  and  sent  out  a  lot  to  the  stables  for 
Brett" — the  coachman — "to  put  on  the  wagons  as  he 
wished.  So  the  men  won't  know  how  they've  fared 
till  the  last  minute.  Cute  idea,  I  think.  I'm  dead  sick 
of  seeing  you  in  black,  so  I  picked  out  this  pale  green 
ribbon  for  you.  Looks  pretty,  doesn't  it?  I'll  fasten 
it  on  your  shoulder  myself." 

I  was  flattered;  rarely  did  Lilian  show  such  an  in- 
terest. 

"Thank  you,  Lilian.  But  fancy  your  choosing  green 
for  me  !  It  would  suit  your  fair  hair  far  better  than 
my  black." 

"I  have  yellow,"  she  said,  constrainedly.  "I'm 
sorry  if  you  are  not  pleased." 

"Nonsense,  child!"  I  said.  Then,  prompted  by  a 
mischievous  demon,  I  added,  "Green  means  forsaken, 
you  know — that's  all." 

"Theo!  I  had  forgotten  it!"  she  cried. 

"Green  is  forsaken, 
And  yellow's 

179 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

Oh,  yellow's  'forsworn' !  There,  it's  just  like  you, 
Theo  Braithe !  So  mean  and  nasty !  I  never  am  en- 
joying myself  but  you  do  some  beastly  thing  to  spoil 
everything." 

Her  sweet  voice  ran  up  and  down  in  a  pathetic 
arpeggio  of  minor  cadences.  As  for  me,  I  was  ashamed 
of  myself,  and  apologized. 

"I  am  so  sorry,  Lilian.  I  meant  nothing  by  that 
nonsense.  Please  forgive  me !  I  like  the  green  ribbon 
very  much." 

"Nonsense,"  she  repeated,  scornfully,  "nonsense, 
indeed!  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Madam  Groceress,  if 
you  took  a  little  more  notice  of  signs  that  crop  up 
under  your  very  nose,  you  wouldn't  sail  so  close  to  the 
wind.  Yes,  dear  Mrs.  Ainslie,"  in  answer  to  a  gentle 
tap  at  the  door,  "coming  directly!  I'm  just  pinning 
on  my  Theo's  shoulder-knot.  Nasty  sly  cat,"  to  me, 
as  our  visitor  was  heard  moving  away,  "always  sneak- 
ing, and  snooping,  and  listening  at  key-holes !  There, 
come  along,  do,  and  when  you're  just  reeking  with  en- 
joyment, you  may  increase  it  by  remembering  that 
you've  made  me  miserable." 

Her  reproaches  made  me  unhappy — I  felt  they 
were  deserved — but  I  had  not  time  to  say  so,  since 
she  hurried  away  to  join  the  crowd  of  black  dominos 
already  waiting  for  us  at  the  top  of  the  staircase.  I 
looked  curiously  at  my  companions  as  we  rustled  down 
to  the  drawing-room,  trying,  vainly,  to  guess  who  was 
who.  It  pleased  me  to  see  several  green  shoulder- 
knots  besides  my  own,  for  I  thought  this  meant  that 
I  had  drawn  what  would  assure  me  a  place  in  one  of 
the  double  wagons. 

The  men  were  as  thoroughly  disguised  as  the 
women;  save  for  the  difference  in  height  they  looked 
exactly  alike.  Then  I  saw  what  had  before  escaped 
my  notice — the  ribbons  of  the  same  color  were  tied  in 
bows  of  a  different  pattern.  Mine  was  in  a  simple 

180 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

bow,  but  the  green  one  on  the  shoulder  of  the  girl 
next  to  me  was  in  a  true-lover's  knot.  I  glanced  at  the 
men.  Their  ribbons  were  varied  in  the  same  way.  A 
tall  domino  wore  the  bow  matching  mine,  and,  from 
his  awkward  movements,  I  guessed  him  to  be  Mr. 
Bandhar.  I  smiled  behind  my  mask,  remembering 
my  foolish  glances  of  the  morning.  The  prospect  of 
a  long  drive  with  such  a  dullard  was  appalling,  but  the 
knowledge  that  there  would  be  others  in  the  wagon — 
since  I  did  not  alone  wear  green — comforted  me. 

But  when  I  descended  the  steps  with  my  cavalier 
I  found  that  I  had  been  mistaken.  Brett  had  amused 
himself  by  mixing  things  up  as  much  as  possible.  On 
the  railings  of  the  seats  in  the  three-seated  wagon  he 
had  tied  three  separate  colors:  red,  white,  and  blue. 
The  double  dog-cart  wore  pink  and  green,  but  the 
green  bow  did  not  match  mine.  No,  I,  with  Mr. 
Bandhar,  was  given  a  buggy  drawn  by  two  horses;  the 
fastest  horses  in  the  stables  I  noticed,  with  a  qualm  of 
terror,  as  I  got  in.  Poor  Mr.  Bandhar  was  a  wretched 
driver. 

Sighing  deeply,  and  repressing  a  wicked  wish  that 
one  of  the  Allenby  girls  were  in  my  place,  I  resigned 
myself  to  my  fate  and,  so  soon  as  we  were  out  of  the 
avenue,  took  off  my  mask.  Mr.  Bandhar  did  not  fol- 
low my  example,  neither  did  he  attempt  more  than  a 
scanty  grunt  in  response  to  my  would-be  civil  remarks. 
Deciding  that  he  was  as  disappointed  as  I  in  the  com- 
panion chance  had  given  him,  I  felt  ashamed  of  my 
own  vanity  in  taking  it  for  granted  that  he  would  be 
pleased.  For  this  reason  I  made  no  objection  when  he 
turned  westward,  instead  of  following  the  road  by  the 
river,  where  the  view,  because  of  the  glorious  moon- 
light, would  be  exceptionally  fine,  since  I  thought  he 
might  at  least  have  his  own  choice  in  that.  Neither 
did  I  object  when  he  jerked  up  the  top  of  the  buggy, 
though  I  preferred  it  down,  but  I  was  thankful  that 

181 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

we  had  been  late  in  getting  off.  It  was  already  after 
ten. 

Although  supper  had  not  been  ordered  till  twelve, 
I  thought  it  would  do  no  harm  to  get  home  well  before 
that  hour.  I  might  plead  the  necessity  of  arriving 
earlier  than  the  others,  as  hostess,  and  did  Mr.  Band- 
har  remain  in  the  sulks  he  would  be  as  willing  to  re- 
turn as  I.  Indeed,  I  congratulated  myself  upon  his 
sharing  my  wishes  when,  after  reaching  the  end  of 
what  had,  in  old  times,  been  our  avenue,  he  turned 
into  a  road  that,  twisting  around  a  tract  of  fields  and 
woodland,  made  a  pretty,  if  short,  drive  from  Braithe. 

My  companion  not  wishing  to  talk,  I  thought  it 
would  not  be  rude  if  I  closed  my  eyes  for  a  moment 
or  two,  just  to  rest  them.  I  was  so  very  tired  after 
my  sleeplessness  of  the  past  night,  and  my  head  ached 
from  over-fretting.  Etienne  and  I  were  on  bad  terms ; 
my  opal,  after  a  search  through  Lilian's  possessions, 
remained  invisible;  and  although  I  felt  sure  it  would 
be  found  later,  since  I  could  not  believe  it  had  been 
stolen — Braithe  was  too  full  of  people,  I  thought,  to 
give  thieves  a  chance — still,  its  loss  worried  me. 

But  the  motion  of  the  buggy  was  soothing,  the 
rhythmical  sound  of  the  horse's  hoofs  served  as  a 
lullaby.  I  leaned  my  head  against  the  side  of  the 
hood,  I  closed  my  eyes,  I  forgot  my  worries — I 
drowsed  off,  waked  with  a  start,  napped  again,  then 
fell  into  a  profound  slumber  that  lasted  a  very  long 
time. 

I  was  roused  from  this  heavy  sleep  by  a  dream — 
a  most  unpleasant  dream. 

I  thought  I  was  in  a  sail-boat  with  Etienne  upon  a 
wide  stretch  of  moonlit  water.  We  sat  close  together, 
his  arm  around  me ;  with  his  free  hand  he  grasped  the 
tiller,  guiding  our  white-sailed  craft.  But  although 
he  held  me  firmly  he  appeared  unconscious  of  my 
presence,  staring  straight  ahead  as  if  only  thinking 

182 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

of  steering  the  boat,  never  of  me.  I  was — so  it 
seemed — but  a  passenger  for  whom  it  was  his  duty 
to  care — his  uninteresting  duty.  In  my  dream  I  felt 
this  keenly,  and  looked  anxiously  forward,  hoping  for 
the  sight  of  our  landing-place,  where  I  might  relieve 
him  of  myself — his  cargo. 

Then  I  became  aware  of  something  moving  just 
behind  us  and,  turning,  saw  a  masked  man  crouching 
down  on  the  narrow  stern.  His  eyes,  through  the  slits 
of  his  mask,  gleamed  like  blue  flames,  and  I  felt  that 
I  had  met  their  strange  glances  before,  but  where,  I 
could  not  remember.  He  thrust  out  a  stealthy  hand 
and  cautiously  laid  it  upon  the  tiller,  just  behind 
Etienne's;  then  he  steered  our  boat.  Etienne,  un- 
conscious, staring  straight  before  him,  did  not  see  that 
the  masked  man  had  changed  our  course,  and  I,  I 
could  not  speak,  could  not  cry  out  that  shipwreck 
threatened;  could  not  even  motion  to  the  jagged 
rocks,  whose  cruel  points  showed  black  above  the  foam 
that  surged  across  them,  toward  which  we  were 
swiftly  sailing. 

I  dreamed  that  I  made  a  desperate  effort  to  scream 
a  warning,  and,  as  I  strove,  the  man  lifted  his  mask 
and  I  saw  the  handsome,  wicked  face  of  Old  Vivian, 
gleaming  white  and  diabolical  in  the  moonlight.  I 
awoke. 

The  horses  were  scrambling,  with  the  agility  of 
cats,  up  a  very  steep  hill.  On  either  hand  rose  rocky 
banks,  surmounted  by  dense  woods.  My  head  rested 
against  my  companion's  breast,  his  arm  was  around 
me,  clasping  me  close,  because  the  difficulties  of  the 
road  made  driving  with  one  hand  impossible.  As  I 
became  conscious  of  my  position  we  topped  the  hill 
and,  in  the  white  splendor  of  the  moon's  light,  the 
whole  country  became  visible  for  miles.  Although 
but  a  world  of  farmsteads  and  woodland,  like  that  just 
back  of  Braithe,  it  was  quite  new  to  me;  for  the  hori- 

183 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

zon,  far  beyond  us,  was  barred  by  the  line  of  the 
Shawangunk  Mountains. 

Before  I  had  fully  shaken  off  the  stupor  following 
my  long  slumber,  the  horses  plunged  down  the  hill, 
and  I  became  aware,  from  the  skill  shown  in  their 
management,  that  the  masked  man  beside  me  could 
not  be  Mr.  Bandhar.  Until  we  reached  the  foot  of 
what  was  almost  a  precipice  I  knew  I  ought  not  move, 
as  my  companion  must,  from  any  sudden  change  on 
my  part,  lose  control  of  the  spirited  horses,  already 
wild  with  their  desire  to  run  down  the  hill.  He  held 
me  as  firmly  and  easily  as  if  I  had  been  a  little  child. 
The  horses,  flinging  their  weight  upon  the  reins  in 
their  determination  to  set  the  pace  themselves,  made 
the  muscles  of  his  arm  rise  as  tight  as  whip-cord ;  yet 
he  did  not  stir,  but  sat  like  a  rock,  supporting  me,  con- 
trolling the  horses,  without  apparent  exertion. 

The  horror  of  my  nightmare  still  surrounded  me 
with  an  atmosphere  of  dread ;  and,  as  my  mind  cleared, 
it  did  not  dissipate,  but  increased.  For  I  soon  saw  that 
the  night  was  far  advanced,  the  moon  was  no  longer 
in  the  zenith,  but  swinging  toward  the  west,  and  the 
chill  of  the  hours  that  follow  midnight  was  abroad. 
The  lateness  of  the  hour,  the  strange  surroundings, 
and  the  presence  of  the  masked  man  beside  me,  so 
paralyzed  me  with  terror  that  even  when  we  had 
reached  the  level,  and  the  horses  had  settled  down 
into  a  steady  trot,  I  could  not,  for  a  few  moments, 
either  speak  or  move. 

It  was  in  vain  I  told  myself  that  my  companion  was 
some  member  of  my  own  house-party,  that  I  ought  to 
speak  at  once,  and  tell  him  he  had  lost  his  road;  in 
vain  that  shame  at  my  position  urged  me  to  action. 
No,  I  dared  not  even  lift  my  head  from  its  resting- 
place  against  his  heart,  for  I  saw,  in  imagination,  the 
face  of  Old  Vivian  behind  that  mask.  Suddenly,  in- 
voluntarily, I  shivered  as  with  a  chill. 

184 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

Very  gently,  with  infinite  precaution,  I  was  re- 
placed in  my  corner  of  the  buggy;  the  horses  were 
pulled  down  to  a  walk,  and  my  companion,  leaning 
forward,  began  to  draw  something  from  beneath  the 
seat.  With  equal  gentleness  and  precaution,  my 
trembling  fingers  making  the  task  one  of  great  dif- 
ficulty, I  lifted  the  soft,  slouched  hat  from  the  head 
of  the  stooping  man.  The  white  moonlight  showed 
the  close-cropped  curls  of  Herbert  Fayne. 

I  cried  out,  in  my  amazement,  in  my  great  relief; 
and  Herbert,  starting  up,  took  off  his  mask  and  smiled 
at  me.  Then,  all  in  a  moment,  a  rush  of  thoughts 
crowded  into  my  mind,  and  my  feeling  of  relief  was 
gone.  Herbert  knew  every  road  in  the  country-side, 
so  he  had  not  lost  his  way.  And  his  smile  had  some- 
thing sinister  in  it,  his  blue  eyes  an  unpleasantly 
triumphant  gleam.  I  thought  suddenly  of  the  great 
gulf  of  years  that  stretched  between  my  knowledge 
of  my  boy  cousin,  and  of  this,  yes,  this  unknown  man. 
In  those  years,  the  years  that  make  or  mar  us  all,  how 
had  the  man  beside  me  lived  and  thought?  He  was, 
in  truth,  a  stranger.  A  stranger  with  an  unfortunate 
resemblance  to  our  common  ancestor,  Vivian;  a 
stranger  who,  in  the  chill,  late  night,  reminded  me 
of  the  family  Leopards,  and  the  motto,  Gare  Griffes. 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  said  to  myself  that  it  was 
both  unnatural,  and  foolish,  to  feel  so  toward  my 
cousin — to  have  such  uncanny  thoughts,  to  suspect 
evil.  Even  as  I  told  myself  that  it  was  only  one  of 
Herbert's  wild  pranks,  that  I  must  put  up  with  for 
the  moment,  I  was  wondering  what  had  been  the 
unpardonable  offence,  that  had  closed  the  doors  of 
Braithe  to  him  during  the  last  years  of  Mr.  Braithe's 
life;  and  recalling  every  fault  that  he  had  committed 
during  his  boyhood.  Even  as  I  strove  to  be  tolerant 
toward  this  last  folly,  I  was  preparing  to  judge  him 
adversely. 

185 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

In  the  meantime  he  had  pulled  a  cloak  from  under- 
neath the  seat,  and  would  have  put  it  over  my  shoul- 
ders, but  the  sight  of  it  broke  the  spell  that  bound  me 
— for  it  was  one  of  my  own  wraps.  It  was  a  mantle 
of  black  velvet,  ornamented  with  a  tracery  of  jet; 
lined  with  pale  lilac  satin,  and  with  clasps  of  silver. 
These  last  a  gift  of  Etienne's — one  showing  his  weak- 
ness for  Braithe  follies — leopards'  heads  of  silver, 
with  topaz  eyes.  Each  topaz  seemed  to  gather  light 
as  Herbert  lifted  the  cloak,  and  each  line  of  jet  showed 
a  glancing  reflection  of  the  moon's  cold  rays. 

"My  cloak!"  I  exclaimed.  "How  did  you  happen 
to  have  it  with  you?  But  it  didn't  happen,"  I  went 
on  in  sudden  indignation,  "you  brought  it!  Who 
gave  it  to  you?  Why  did  you  pretend  to  be  Mr. 
Bandhar?  How  did  you  know  I  was  to  drive  with 
you,  Herbert,  and  why  have  we  come  so  far?" 

"Put  this  on,"  he  said,  still  trying  to  wrap  the  cloak 
around  me,  "and  ask  one  question  at  a  time.  Don't 
be  foolish,  Dolly" — he  spoke  with  tender  imperious- 
ness  as  I  evaded  his  efforts — "but  put  this  on  directly, 
please.  I  can't  have  you  catching  cold." 

A  new  idea  flashed  into  my  mind. 

"Put  down  the  buggy-top,  please,"  I  said,  briefly, 
"and  as  far  as  it  will  go." 

He  laughed,  and  there  was  a  ring  of  excitement  in 
his  laughter. 

"I  must  obey  first?"  he  said.  "So  be  it,"  and  the 
hood  went  down.  "Now  it's  your  turn,  Dolly." 

"Take  off  your  domino,"  I  commanded. 

He  hesitated,  laughed  again,  and  saying,  "Well 
then,  here  goes!"  slipped  it  off.  He  was  not  in  even- 
ing dress,  but  wore  a  suit  of  dark  serge. 

I  laid  a  finger  on  his  sleeve.  "What  does  this 
mean?"  I  demanded. 

He  looked  down  at  me  with  fond  admiration,  and 
laughed  again ;  a  laugh  that  added  to  my  anxiety,  for 

186 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

it  was  the  laugh  of  a  lover,  foolishly  proud  of  his  sweet- 
heart's wit. 

"I  must  have  played  Bandhar  to  the  life,  Dolly," 
said  Herbert,  "to  have  taken  you  in!  I  didn't  dare 
speak,  however,  and  you  were  so  sleepy  you  weren't 
so  clever  as  usual.  O  Dolly,  my  darling,  I  love  you 
so!  I  have  loved  you  all  my  life." 

"Hush!"  I  said,  imperiously.  "You  must  not  say 
such  things  to  me  even  in  jest,  Herbert,  fond  as  you 
are  of  talking  nonsense.  You  must  remember  that  I 
am  grown  up,  and  married." 

"Married!"  he  echoed,  scornfully.  "A  marriage 
that  any  court  in  the  country  could,  and  shall,  annul." 

"Be  still,  Herbert,"  I  cried,  indignantly,  "how  dare 
you " 

"Hear  me  out,"  he  broke  in,  "for  I  mean  to  speak — 
and  fully.  I  made  Lilian  give  you  that  ribbon  to- 
night, and  myself  tied  its  mate  on  this  wagon.  I  pre- 
tended to  be  that  fool  Bandhar,  fearing  your  terrible 
conservatism  might  make  you  insist  upon  going  in 
one  of  the  double  wagons,  if  you  knew  I  was  to  be 
your  driver.  For  you've  snubbed  me  since  I  fought 
Randoce  for  your  rose,  and  I  can't  imagine  why. 
Poor  Randoce,  how  I  did  hate  him!"  He  spoke  as  if 
years  had  elapsed  since  then ;  as  if  Monsieur  Randoce 
had  not  left  Braithe  only  that  morning.  "Yes,"  he 
went  on,  "Randoce  taught  me  how  matters  were  with 
me.  I've  flirted  all  my  life,  Dolly,  as  you  know,  but 
I  never  knew  what  love  really  meant  till  now. 
Why,"  he  laughed  a  little,  "I  actually  hated  to  own 
up  to  myself  that  my  time  had  come.  I  realize  now 
that  what  made  me  half-hearted  in  all  my  other  af- 
fairs was  this  dormant  fondness  for  you.  I  always 
meant  to  marry  you  when  we  grew  up.  Many's  the 
time  I've  punched  Jim  Wylde's  head  for  saying  I 
shouldn't." 

He  laughed  again  softly.  I  did  not  speak,  but  sat 
187 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

quite  still — listening.  And  the  trees  of  the  wood- 
land, closing  in  on  either  side  the  road  that  stretched 
straight  and  white  before  us  in  the  moonlight,  seemed 
to  listen  with  me;  whispering  to  each  other,  with 
breathless,  uneasy  rustlings,  to  be  silent,  to  keep  very 
still,  that  they  might  the  better — listen.  In  the 
death-like  quiet  of  the  late  night  I  could  hear  my 
heart  throbbing,  throbbing,  in  its  ever-growing  fear. 

Herbert  spoke  again,  his  voice  sweet  and  silky — and 
I  thought  of  the  purr  of  the  leopard. 

"To-night  we  shall  be  children  again,  Dolly,  and 
play  at  camping-out,  under  the  trees.  Just  ahead  a 
rough  track  leads  into  the  very  heart  of  these  woods, 
and  there  I  chose,  this  morning,  the  prettiest,  grassy 
hollow  for  our  camp.  I  hid  some  rugs  away  in  a 
hollow  tree;  and  I  got  everything  ready.  You  shall 
have  a  fire,  and  a  glass  of  wine,  directly,  to  stop  that 
shivering.  Why,  Dolly,  you  look  as  though  I  fright- 
ened you,  your  face  is  white!" 

Something  in  his  voice,  a  truly  Braithe  cadence, 
told  me  that  my  fear  pleased  him — since  it  showed  I 
felt  his  power. 

"White?"  I  said,  with  a  poor  pretence  at  ease. 
"The  moonlight  makes  it  appear  so,  probably.  You, 
too,  look  white.  But  enough  of  jesting,  Herbert,  we 
must  hurry  home." 

"To-morrow,"  he  went  on,  as  if  I  had  not  spoken, 
"we'll  go  on  to  an  old  house  tucked  away  in  a  lonely 
valley,  twenty  odd  miles  from  here — I  went  there 
once  with  Uncle  Braithe,  for  fishing,  when  I  was  a 
boy.  They  may  look  for  us  up  and  down  the  river, 
dear,  but  will  never  think  of  looking  there.  Why 
don't  you  act  like  yourself,  my  little  cousin?  You 
sit  there  staring  at  me  with  such  a  strange  expression 
in  your  beautiful  eyes.  What  does  it  mean,  Dolly? 
Do  I  please  you  a  little,  do  you  think  me  a  handsome 
fellow?  Come,  tell  me!" 

188 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

He  was  superbly,  magnificently  handsome,  as  he 
swayed  toward  me,  his  full  lips  curved  in  the  habitual 
half-amused,  half-mocking  smile.  He  was,  I  thought, 
as  Jane  had  said,  singularly  like  Guide's  Apollo.  The 
moonlight  glorified  his  beauty  of  feature,  the  careless 
grace  of  his  attitude,  the  cold  splendor  of  his  heavy- 
lidded  blue  eyes.  I  remembered  that,  as  a  boy,  he 
had  never  given  up  the  pursuit  of  what  he  desired, 
unless  compelled  to  do  so  by  a  power  stronger  than  his 
own.  And  search  as  I  might  among  old  memories,  I 
could  not  recollect  his  having  ever  shown  any  noble 
feeling  that  I  might  now  hope  to  awaken. 

"Well,  am  I  never  to  hear  you  say  you  love  me?" 
His  voice  had  sunk  almost  to  a  whisper.  The  uneasy 
trees,  flinging,  here  and  there,  the  shadow  of  a  branch 
across  the  white  road,  rustled  a  nervous  accompani- 
ment. "I  know  you  love  me,  you  foolish  girl,  so  why 
not  tell  me  so?  If  I  had  been  anybody  but  your 
scapegrace  cousin,  you  wouldn't  have  lain  ?o  peace- 
fully asleep  in  my  arms.  You  are  a  high-strung  crea- 
ture, Dora;  even  in  your  sleep  you  would  shrink  from 
the  touch  of  any  man  unless  you  loved  him.  Ah!  as 
I  held  you,  cradled  against  my  breast,  I  wished  to 
God  I  could  drive  on  through  the  night — forever." 

I  braced  myself  for  a  great  effort.  I  must,  I  felt, 
make  a  strong  appeal  to  him  at  once;  yet  the  utter 
uselessness  of  it  tied  my  tongue  and  sapped  my 
strength,  I  was  so  sure  I  would  not  prevail.  I  felt 
as  though  I  were  again  in  the  clutches  of  a  terrible 
nightmare — it  was  all  so  unnatural,  so  unreal.  I  was 
Etienne's  wife,  in  Etienne's  light  wagon,  behind 
Etienne's  favorite  horses — yet  in  the  power  of  Her- 
bert Fayne !  How  near  might  we  be,  I  wondered,  to 
the  track  that  was  to  lead  me  to  ruin?  My  reputation 
was  already  hurt,  I  feared,  by  my  long  absence  from 
the  Manor;  but  if  I  could  keep  to  the  high-road,  we 
might  meet  someone  to  whom  I  could  cry  out  for  aid, 

189 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

saying  we  had  lost  our  way,  and  so  at  last  reach 
home. 

The  horses  walked  quietly,  willing  to  rest.  Her- 
bert let  them  idle  along,  enjoying  this  slow  approach 
to  the  fulfilment  of  his  desire — an  added  enjoyment, 
now  that  he  had  me  trapped.  Of  what  use,  I  asked 
myself,  to  try  honest  means  with  this  treacherous 
Braithe  ?  Let  me  use  deceit  instead,  the  only  weapon 
that  might  help  me  now. 

"You  are  more  Fayne  than  Braithe  to-night, 
Bertie,"  I  said,  gently. 

"How  so?"  he  asked,  an  expression  of  eager  curi- 
osity replacing  that  of  passion  in  his  eyes;  and  I  real- 
ized, with  swift  self-hatred,  that  now,  as  always,  my 
unexpectedness  had  been,  to  him,  my  chief  charm. 
My  changing  moods — and  thoughts — had  kept  him 
interested,  on  the  alert,  in  the  need  of  the  constant 
use  of  all  his  powers.  This  suited  his  cat-like  nature. 

I  laughed  a  little,  and  wondered  that  I  did  it  so 
well. 

"A  Braithe  would  not  have  denied  a  woman  the 
pleasure  of  being  wooed,  Bertie,"  I  said,  softly;  "a 
Braithe  would  have  left  her  the  joy  of  giving  up 
everything  for — for  her  lover ;  a  Braithe  would  never 
have  planned  to  win — or  lose — by  so  rough  a  coup  as 
this.  You  are  no  true  Braithe,  my  cousin,  but  just  a 
Fayne ;  showing  yourself  a  tyro  yet  at  this  great  game 
— called  Love." 

He  knit  his  brows,  my  words  stung  him,  but  not 
with  the  result  I  had  hoped. 

"I  have  not  one  drop  of  Fayne  blood  in  my  body," 
he  said,  quickly.  "I  am  more  a  Braithe  than  you." 

I  looked  at  him,  raising  my  eyebrows  in  scornful 
surprise.  What  might  this  mean? 

"My  mother,"  he  went  on,  "had  the  same  good 
taste  that  you  show,  Dolly;  she  preferred  her  hand- 
some cousin  to  her  lawful  lord." 

190 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

His  shocking  words,  showing  such  callous  disrespect 
for  his  mother's  memory,  for  every  decency  of  life, 
made  it  impossible  for  me  to  play  my  part  longer. 

"For  shame!"  I  cried,  hotly.  "How  can  you  speak 
so  wickedly!  Take  me  home — I  hate  you — despise 
you!  To-morrow  you  shall  leave  Braithe." 

"Dear  me,  Dolly,"  he  said,  plaintively,  "what  a 
little  vixen  you  are!  I  thought  I  would  please  you 
by  proving  a  double  cousin-ship,  but  women  are  kittle 
cattle,  indeed."  He  sighed  deeply,  and  looked  ag- 
grieved, as  he  always  had,  when  people  disapproved 
of  him.  "I  won't  take  you  home,"  he  continued,  "so 
you  needn't  ask  it.  I  believe,  for  all  your  show  of 
temper,  that  you  would  rather  be  with  me  than  with 
that  common  Rappelle." 

Again  despair  clutched  at  my  heart.  I  felt  for- 
saken— lost.  I  shuddered  again,  as  with  a  chill. 

"It's  that  silk  thing  that  makes  you  shiver  so,"  said 
Herbert,  and  before  I  could  prevent  him  he  unloos- 
ened the  fastening  of  my  domino,  and  flung  it  from 
my  shoulders.  "Ah!"  he  exclaimed  beneath  his 
breath,  as  holding  my  velvet  mantle  with  which  he 
had  meant  to  replace  the  thin  domino,  he  stared  at 
me  as  if  he  would  never  have  done.  The  look  in  his 
eyes  insulted  me,  yet  I  sustained  it  proudly,  deter- 
mined he  should  not  know  I  understood.  I  even 
spoke,  to  prove  I  felt  no  fear. 

"A  fitting  camping  dress,  truly!"  I  said,  with  a 
haughty  smile.  "I  see  that  you  realize  your  folly 
now." 

I  wore  a  gown  of  black  gauze,  upon  whose  sombre 
folds  gleamed — woven  through  the  stuff — great  shin- 
ing silken  spots.  The  bodice,  cut  low,  was  oddly 
trimmed  with  peacocks'  feathers  of  jet,  the  quills 
starting  from  the  waist,  so  that  the  tips  made  the 
finish  around  the  top  of  the  corsage.  About  my 
throat  was  clasped  a  collar  of  diamonds.  I  wore 

191 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

bracelets  of  diamonds — one,  a  long  diamond-studded 
snake  upon  my  upper  arm;  in  my  hair  a  diamond 
crescent. 

"You  shimmer — like  the  moon!"  cried  Herbert, 
with  sudden  passion.  "You  sparkle — like  the  stars!" 
He  slipped  the  reins  over  one  arm  and  caught  me 
to  him,  covering  my  face  and  shoulders  with  kisses; 
fierce  yet  languorous  kisses,  that  seared  my  very  soul, 
and  drove  me  mad. 

With  strength  born  of  desperation  I  wrenched  my- 
self free,  stood  upright,  seized  the  whip,  and  struck 
the  horses — once,  twice,  with  all  the  force  in  me. 
They  reared,  plunged,  then  galloped  wildly  down  the 
road.  The  reins  ran  out  with  a  jerk,  but  Herbert, 
with  what  seemed  to  me  fiendish  dexterity,  caught 
them  before  they  could  slip  across  his  hand  and  so 
over  the  dashboard,  as  I  had  hoped  they  might.  Then, 
drawing  me  back  into  my  place,  he  wound  the  reins 
about  his  wrists  with  one  swift  turn  of  his  skilful 
hands,  and  strove  to  master  the  runaways. 

We  were  soon  out  of  the  woodland,  and  on  into  the 
open  country.  Presently,  we  rushed  past  farmsteads, 
showing  black  amidst  their  encircling  meadows,  where 
horses  turned  out  to  pasture,  startled  by  our  wild  ap- 
proach, ran  snorting  away  across  the  home-field.  On, 
on,  we  raced,  through  the  white  night  till,  with  an 
awful  sinking  of  the  heart,  I  saw  that  Herbert  was 
slowly  but  surely  conquering. 

Then  I  cried  out  to  the  horses — Etienne's  horses — 
urging  them  on;  I  clapped  my  hands,  blazing  with 
jewels — Etienne's  jewels — and  gave  the  sharp,  excit- 
ing call  that  jockeys  use  when  speeding  their  trotters. 

"Be  quiet,  Theo!"  Herbert  commanded. 

I  heard  him  cursing  under  his  breath.  I  paid  no 
heed,  but  cried  out  again  and  again.  There  followed 
an  odd  sound.  One  rein  had  snapped — and  a  race 
with  Death  began.  I  hoped  that  Death  might  win; 

192 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

since  Etienne  would  never  forgive  me,  and  Janey  was 
provided  for. 

The  wild  exhilaration  that  danger  brings  to  us 
Braithes  tingled  through  my  veins.  I  laughed  aloud 
with  the  joy  of  it,  and  again  urged  on  the  maddened 
horses  with  voice  and  hand.  The  knowledge  that 
they,  too,  might  be  killed  awoke  no  pity;  they  and  I 
belonged  to  Etienne.  Better  that  we  should  die  than 
that  he  should  be  robbed.  And  on  we  tore  through 
the  night. 

But  Herbert,  who  had  so  lately  bragged  himself 
pure  Braithe,  was  afraid.  He  dreaded  what  I  longed 
for,  and  the  danger  left  him  cold.  With  teeth  set, 
the  veins  on  his  forehead  swollen  with  the  intensity 
of  his  past  exertions,  and  his  face  rigid  in  its  outlines, 
he  sat,  motionless,  awaiting  the  final  moment;  when 
he  would  strive  to  save,  not  himself,  but  the  woman 
he  loved,  from  bodily  harm.  For  I  knew  well  that 
the  risk  we  ran  would  have  been  nothing  to  him  had 
he  been  alone;  I  knew  that  in  his  desperate  fear  for 
me  he  was  suffering  as  he  had  never  before  suffered 
in  his  selfish  life — and  I  rejoiced. 

Then  I  saw  that  before  us,  just  beyond  a  farm- 
house rising  black  against  the  moonlight,  the  road 
turned  abruptly  where  a  great  rock,  topped  by  trees, 
jutted  sharply  out.  I  said  to  myself  that  the  end  was 
there,  and  I  thanked  God  for  making  it  so  sure. 

"Look  out,  Dolly!  Don't  jump,  for  God's  sake!" 
cried  Herbert  suddenly.  "I  must  run  them  into  the 
ditch " 

He  flung  himself,  with  all  his  strength,  upon  the 
rein  that  still  held.  Chaos  followed. 


XVIII 

The  sudden  stoppage  of  the  wagon  tossed  me  out 
upon  the  grass,  high  up  on  the  bank,  above  the  ditch ; 
but  the  violence  of  the  shock  neither  stunned  me  nor 
caused  me  to  forget  for  even  an  instant  the  urgent 
necessity  of  escape.  I  stumbled  to  my  feet,  shaken, 
almost  breathless,  with  fear  lest  Herbert  were  close  at 
hand,  and  looked  dizzily  about  me,  with  terrified  eyes. 
I  must  get  to  the  farm-house  we  had  just  passed,  must 
seek  refuge  there. 

Then  I  saw  that  the  buggy  had  come  to  a  stand- 
still but  a  few  feet  farther  on.  One  of  the  lightly 
built  wheels  had  been  shattered  by  the  sharp  turn,  and 
the  wrecked  wagon,  becoming  entangled  among  the 
rocks  and  low  bushes  that  edged  the  roadside,  had 
served  as  an  effectual  check  upon  the  frightened 
horses.  They  now  stood  quiet,  with  drooping  crests. 
Close  at  their  heels  lay  Herbert,  the  reins  still  twisted 
about  his  wrists.  He  did  not  move;  was  he  stunned 
— or  dead? 

At  first  I  thought  only  that  now  I  had  time  to  reach 
my  haven  in  safety,  unmolested;  but  before  I  had 
taken  three  steps  in  the  direction  of  the  farm-house,  I 
realized  the  possibility  of  the  horses  again  starting  on 
their  mad  race  through  the  night,  dragging  at  their 
heels  that  helpless  figure,  mangling  it  out  of  every 
semblance  of  humanity.  I  turned  back. 

It  was  all  I  could  do  to  force  myself  to  approach, 
but  conscience  had  made  itself  master.  I  must  do 
my  duty  and  leave  the  rest  to  God.  Herbert  lay  upon 

194 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

his  back,  his  beautiful  face  upturned  to  heaven,  a 
streak  of  blood  on  his  right  temple.  I  thought  that 
he  was  dead,  and  that  I  had  killed  him.  Yet  I  could 
not  bring  myself  to  touch  him,  but  went  instead  to 
the  horses'  heads,  to  prevent  their  running  again. 
More  I  could  not  do. 

The  moon  hung  low  in  the  west,  but  still  shed  a  cold 
white  light  over  meadow  and  woodland.  The  night, 
all  nature,  seemed  to  look  with  chill  remoteness  at 
my  distress.  I  felt  so  very  lonely — forsaken.  The 
horses  seemed  to  share  my  feelings;  now  and  again 
they  rested  their  velvety  noses  against  my  bare  shoul- 
ders, as  if  seeking  sympathy  and  the  comfort  of  a  closer 
companionship. 

I  tried  to  speak  cheeringly,  encouragingly,  to  do  all 
I  could  for  the  poor  creatures  for  whose  wild  run  I 
was  partly  responsible.  Childish  anxieties  mingled 
with  great  ones  in  my  distracted  mind.  I  felt  ner- 
vously for  the  diamond  crescent;  had  it  fallen  from 
my  hair?  No,  it  still  clung  fast.  Then  I  thought 
with  concern  of  my  velvet  cloak;  was  it  by  the  road- 
side, some  distance  back?  Where  was  it?  Were  they 
sitting  up  for  me  at  Braithe,  my  gay  guests,  wearing 
out  the  night  with  cards,  champagne,  unkind  mirth 
over  my  prolonged  absence?  This  last,  earlier  in  the 
evening,  but  by  now — ?  A  grave  scandal  in  progress 
must  not  be  treated  too  lightly  by  those  close  at  hand ; 
later  perhaps,  when  at  a  safe  distance  from  Braithe, 
they  might  use  what  license  they  wished  in  speaking 
of  me,  of 

I  could  not  endure  this  last  thought.  I  bore 
Etienne's  honest  name;  he  had  trusted  me  with  it. 
Was  it  to  be  dragged  through  the  mud  because  of  my 
lack  of  forethought,  prudence,  common-sense?  I 
wanted  Etienne  to  come  for  me — to  take  me  home. 
I  longer  for  his  mere  presence;  let  him  scold,  or  be 
silently  scornful,  I  did  not  care  if  only  he  came. 

195 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

A  deep  silence  filled  the  white  world  surrounding 
me.  Herbert's  face  shown  pale  in  the  cold  light;  the 
horses,  save  for  an  occasional  deep  sigh,  stood  quiet; 
and  I — I  dared  not  move. 

It  seemed  hours  before  I  heard,  far  in  the  distance, 
the  sound  of  a  horse's  easy  trot,  the  light  rattle  of 
wheels.  It  came  from  the  same  road  we  had  followed. 
I  listened  breathlessly.  The  horses  pricked  up  their 
ears.  What  if  it  should  turn  aside,  into  one  of  the 
farms  farther  up  the  road?  Then,  as  the  sound  drew 
nearer,  I  was  assailed  by  the  dread  of  being  found 
thus,  alone,  past  midnight,  without  my  husband. 
What  might  not  people  think?  And  but  part  of  the 
truth  was  fit  to  tell.  A  buggy  approached  at  an  easy 
pace;  the  top  was  up,  but  the  waning  moonlight  en- 
abled me  to  see  that  only  one  person  was  in  it. 
A  feeling  of  intense  shame  held  me  silent.  I 
knew  I  must  ask  aid,  but  waited,  in  spite  of 
myself,  until  the  last  moment.  The  vehicle  reached 
us  and  drew  up  sharply.  The  one  occupant  leaned 
out 

"Theo  Braithe!     What  has  happened?" 

It  was  Dr.  Strong. 

"O  doctor,  doctor,"  I  cried,  then  faltered,  laughed 
hysterically,  and  began  to  cry. 

Dr.  Strong  wasted  neither  time  nor  words  but,  tying 
his  horse  to  the  nearest  fence,  came  quickly  to  my  side. 
Then  he  caught  sight  of  Herbert. 

"He's  dead,"  I  sobbed,  "dead,  and  I  suppose  I 
killed  him!" 

Dr.  Strong  unfastened  the  traces,  unbuckled  the 
reins  from  the  bits,  and  led  the  horses  away.  Then, 
bidding  me  hold  them,  said,  "Now,  I'll  see  to  Rap- 
pelle." 

"It's  not  Etienne,"  I  almost  whispered,  "it's  Her- 
bert Fayne." 

"What!"  he  exclaimed,  in  tones  of  shocked  sur- 
196 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

prise,  drawing  down  his  shaggy  eyebrows  till  his  eyes 
became  nothing  but  bright  gray  sparks.  "Where's 
Rappelle,  then,  Theo?" 

"Away,"  I  faltered. 

"Humph!"  muttered  the  doctor,  and  went  to  Her- 
bert. He  leaned  down,  examined  him  hastily,  then, 
with  no  gentle  touch,  disengaged  the  reins  from  his 
desperate  clutch,  and,  returning  with  them,  fastened 
the  horses  to  the  fence.  The  doctor's  manner  of 
treating  Herbert  told  me  that  my  cousin  lived,  and, 
furthermore,  that  he  was  in  no  danger. 

"Can  I  help  you,  Dr.  Strong?"  I  asked,  feeling  that 
I  ought  to  do  so. 

"No,"  said  the  doctor,  gruffly. 

"I  think  there  is  wine  in  the  wagon,"  I  ventured, 
timidly. 

"Wine !"  echoed  the  doctor,  "now,  why  the  deuce — 
but  fetch  it,  if  it  hasn't  tumbled  out.  And  do  get 
something  for  your  shoulders." 

I  found  a  basket,  as  I  had  expected,  under  the  seat, 
with  a  goodly  provision  of  sandwiches,  a  bottle  of 
Burgundy,  and  one  small  tumbler.  This  last  added 
to  my  indignation — we  were  to  have  drunk  from  the 
rfame  glass.  The  doctor  forced  a  little  of  the  Bur- 
gundy down  Herbert's  throat. 

"Stand  where  he  can  see  you  when  he  opens  his 
eyes,"  he  commanded ;  "he's  coming  to.  Your  shoul- 
ders are  still  uncovered,  Theo;  go — no,  wait  a  minute 
— a-h!" 

Herbert  sighed,  lifted  his  beautifully  cut  eyelids, 
looked  up  at  me,  smiled  faintly — spoke. 

"Dolly — "  he  said,  haltingly,  "Dolly — my  darling 
— are — you — all — right?"  Then  he  saw  Dr.  Strong. 
"Ah!"  he  murmured,  "my  pipe  is  out." 

"Go  get  a  horse  blanket — anything,"  growled  the 
doctor,  glancing  sharply  at  me,  "and  put  it  around 
you.  Go,  child,  go !" 

197 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"Let  me  help  you,"  I  pleaded.  "What  are  you 
going  to  do,  Dr.  Strong?" 

"Get  you  and  this  dare-devil  home,"  he  said,  crossly. 
"You  shall  go  with  me;  the  people  over  there,"  jerk- 
ing his  head  in  the  direction  of  the  farm-house,  "will 
look  after  him.  I  know  them." 

I  ran  back  along  the  road,  found  and  put  on  my 
cloak,  my  pretty  velvet  cloak — ah,  how  I  dreaded 
facing  the  giver !  I  no  longer  wished  for  Etienne,  no 
longer  wanted  him  to  come  to  me.  In  my  shame  at 
my  position  I  was  thankful  to  be  with  my  old  friend, 
Dr.  Strong.  Even  he  disapproved  of  me — so  what 
might  be  expected  of  Etienne  ? 

The  irate  doctor  roused  the  poor  farmer  from  his 
peaceful  slumber,  and  put  Herbert  in  his  charge. 
The  man  was  one  of  his  people — those  whom  Dr. 
Strong  cared  for  always  became  his  eager  servitors — 
and  readily  promised  to  bring  Herbert  back  to  Braithe 
Manor. 

"He's  taken  a  drop  too  much,"  I  heard  the  doctor 
say,  "so  if  he  talks  nonsense  don't  notice  it;  and  his 
head  is  giddy,  too,  after  his  fall.  First  he  lost  the 
road,  then  one  of  the  reins  broke — he  hasn't  been  in 
these  parts  since  he  was  a  boy.  He's  a  cousin  of  the 
Braithes,  Herbert  Braithe  Fayne." 

"I  know  all  about  the  Braithes,"  said  the  farmer, 
slowly  (we  had  left  Herbert  alone  by  the  roadside  and 
gone,  in  the  doctor's  buggy,  to  get  help  at  the  farm), 
"and  I  guess  the  less  known  the  better.  The  man 
who's  bought  the  old  place  is  square,  folks  say;  he's 
paid  off  all  the  debts  anyway.  The  girl  he's  married 
is  the  best  of  the  lot,  I  understand,  though  that  ain't 
sayin'  much" — I  drew  back  into  the  shadow  of  the 
buggy-top — "an'  they  do  say  she's  an  awful  pritty 
creature,  and  good  to  the  poor,  though  Lord  knows 
she  ain't  had  nothin'  much  to  give  but  good  works. 
Well,  well,  she  ain't  never  been  tried  none.  I  guess 

198 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

now  she  sees  the  color  of  money  she'll  show  her  blood ! 
Kick  over  the  traces,  maybe,  like  as  not " 

"Have  you,  Theo?"  asked  the  doctor,  sternly,  yet 
sadly,  as  we  drove  away  homeward.  "Have  you 
kicked  over  the  traces,  child  ?" 

"No,  no,  Dr.  Strong,"  I  cried,  a  big  lump  rising  in 
my  throat  and  choking  me.  "I  don't  even  want  to." 

The  doctor  was  a  shy  man,  yet,  poor  soul,  felt  it 
his  duty  to  catechise  me.  "Do  you — -do  you,"  he  said, 
haltingly,  "do  you  love  your  husband,  Theo?" 

"I  like  him  better  than  any — any  other  man,"  I 
said,  beginning  to  sob  in  spite  of  myself,  "but  I  fear 
I'm  not  the  falling  in  love  kind.  Not  that  it  matters 
much,  Dr.  Strong,  since  he  doesn't  care  about  me." 

"Rubbish!"  said  the  doctor,  shortly.  "Now  tell 
me  how  you  came  to  be  so  many  miles  from  home  at 
this  hour  of  the  night." 

I  told  him  what  I  could — of  the  choice  of  driving 
partners  by  ribbons,  of  my  long  nap,  and  of  the  run- 
away. 

"Why  was  there  food  in  your  wagon,  Theo?"  asked 
the  doctor.  "I  dare  say  you're  hungry  now,  or  faint. 
Come,  let's  have  something  to  eat;  I  stowed  it  away 
in  here."  He  pulled  the  basket  from  beneath  the 
seat,  and,  drawing  the  horse  down  to  a  walk,  again  un- 
corked the  Burgundy  and  made  me  drink  some. 
"Humph!"  he  muttered,  tasting  it  himself,  "the  best 
in  the  cellar.  I  thought  so.  Now,  eat  this  sand- 
wich, child — I  don't  care  if  you  want  it  or  not,"  as  I 
protested,  "you're  hysterical  through  faintness." 

I  obeyed,  and,  although  swallowing  was  difficult,  I 
felt  the  better  for  the  food. 

"Chicken  and  lettuce,"  said  the  doctor  to  himself, 
rummaging  through  the  basket,  "and  these,  of  rare 
roast  beef!  Do  you  like  chicken  and  lettuce  sand- 
wiches, Theo?" 

"Yes." 

199 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"He  prefers  roast  beef,  I  suppose  ?" 

I  did  not  answer. 

"He  does,  I  see,"  said  the  doctor.  "Theo,  I  am 
your  very  old  friend.  I  am  fond  of  you,  child,  and, 
what's  more,  I  believe  in  you.  Will  you  give  me 
your  confidence?" 

"I  cannot,"  I  said,  desperately,  "but  indeed,  indeed 
I  am  grateful,  Dr.  Strong." 

"Did  you  know  this  food  was  here?"  he  persisted. 

"No,  Dr.  Strong." 

"Did  you  expect  to  drive  with  your  cousin?" 

"No." 

"Did  the  horses  run  away  of  their  own  deviltry, 
Theo?" 

"No,"  I  almost  whispered. 

To  my  amazement  the  doctor  chuckled  suddenly. 
I  looked  at  him  wonderingly,  and  he  smiled. 

"I  was  only  thinking  of  the  Scotch  countess,"  he 
said,  "and  that  blood  will  tell.  Dear,  dear,  what 
strange  ideas  your  poor  step-mother  had  in  regard  to 
your  likeness  to  the  Scotch  woman !  And,"  speaking 
very  slowly,  "I'm  not  so  sure  that  she  was  altogether 
wrong.  But  Mr.  Fayne  needs  change  of  air.  Braithe 
doesn't  suit  his  constitution.  You  must  tell  him  to 
pack,  Theo." 

"I  have,"  I  said. 

The  doctor  chuckled  again,  then  whipped  up  his 
horse,  and  we  sped  swiftly  back  along  the  road  I  had 
travelled  so  short  a  time  before,  under  such  widely 
different  circumstances.  Behind  us,  from  the  dis- 
tance, came  the  sound  of  the  steady  jog-trot  of  the 
farmer's  horses;  Herbert,  too,  was  retracing  the  road 
in  a  way  he  had  little  expected.  I  began  again  to 
feel  as  if  I  were  living  in  a  dream;  as  though  Herbert's 
wild  plans  and  strange  behavior,  his  sudden  passion 
for  me — his  old  playfellow — and  my  own  frantic 
struggle  to  escape  him,  might  well  be  but  a  mental 

200 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

phantasmagoria,  that  the  fast  coming  dawn  would 
dispel. 

Dr.  Strong  hardly  spoke.  He  was  accustomed  to 
the  prolonged  silences  of  solitude,  and  I  was  no  check 
upon  his  thoughts,  or  his  ways,  since  we  had  beeil 
friends  always. 

Upon  the  stone  parapet  of  the  single-arched  bridge, 
that  spans  our  little  brook  before  the  entrance  gate, 
crouched  the  Chevalier — watching.  With  a  bark  of 
delight  that  sounded  like  a  cry,  he  bounded  over  the 
wheel,  into  the  buggy.  Frantic  with  joyous  relief 
over  my  safe  return,  he  paid  no  attention  to  the  com- 
fort of  Dr.  Strong,  but  scrambling  upon  his  lap  used 
his  knees  as  a  point  of  vantage  from  which,  whining 
and  sighing,  he  overwhelmed  me  with  caresses.  My 
poor  Charles  Stuart!  He  had  spent  the  night  on  the 
bridge. 

"Good  Lord!"  ejaculated  the  hardly  used  doctor, 
"but  the  creature  is  human.  Sounds  as  if  he  were 
crying  over  you — but  I  can't  see  through  him.  Sit 
down,  then,  Chevalier!  There's  room  between  us. 
Can't  you  ride  bodkin  for  once  ?  I  must  see  to  drive." 

The  friendly  nudge  from  the  doctor's  elbow  was  the 
only  hint  needed  by  my  clever  collie.  He  squeezed 
down  between  us  like  a  lamb;  only,  pleased  by  the 
doctor's  kindly  voice  and  sympathy,  he  did  insist  upon 
kissing  him,  too.  The  attention  was  not  resented,  to 
my  surprise,  for  Dr.  Strong  was  no  dog-lover. 

"If  the  dog  goes  on  so,"  he  said,  cheerfully,  "what'll 
the  rest  do,  eh,  Madam  Theo?"  and  he  smiled  kindly. 

"I  hope  Janey  is  asleep,  Dr.  Strong." 

"There's  that  remarkable  butler  left.  Rappelle 
tells  me  you're  the  apple  of  his  eye,  and,  bless  me, 
there  he  is  now!" 

Standing  between  the  Leopards  I  saw,  in  the  pale 
gray  light — for  dawn  was  at  hand — a  small  figure, 
that  turned  and  ran  across  the  lawn  toward  the  house  as 

201 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

we  approached.  It  was,  indeed,  my  husband's  faith- 
ful henchman,  Hervey  Merle.  He  was  ready  to  help 
me  from  the  buggy  when  we  drew  up  before  the  door. 

"Welcome  home,  dear  madam,"  he  said,  his  voice 
shaking.  "Thank  God  that  you  are  safe!  We  are 
grateful  to  you,  sir,  for  bringing  her — since  wisdom  is 
above  rubies,  and  a  stitch  in  time  saves  a  lot  of  un- 
ripping." 

"You  will  come  in,  Dr.  Strong?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  my  dear,  to  wait  for  my  patient."  Wheels 
were  to  be  heard  coming  along  the  avenue. 

"Is  Mr.  Fayne  seriously  hurt,  sir?"  asked  Hervey. 
"Was  there  an  accident?" 

I  gave  him  a  brief  account  of  the  upset,  and  in- 
quired for  my  guests.  Dr.  Strong,  still  seated  in  his 
buggy,  listened  attentively  to  the  answer.  I  could 
not  but  wonder  if  he,  too,  had  noticed  the  tone  of 
Hervey's  voice  when  he  inquired  as  to  Herbert's  in- 
juries; there  had  been  in  it  such  a  strange  anxiety 
that  they  might  be  great. 

"Mr.  Carrington,"  said  Hervey,  "has  just  gone  to 
the  stables,  with  Brett,  to  get  up  a  team  to  start  in 
search  of  you,  Mrs.  Rappelle.  Hope  deferred  makes 
the  heart  sick  at  its  stomach,  as  we  all  know,  and  they 
are  both  painfully  worried — for  misery  makes  strange 
bedfellows  of  high  and  low." 

"And  the  rest  of  the  party,  Hervey?" 

"In  the  drawing-room,  Mrs.  Rappelle,  full  to  the 
brim  with  champagne — not  that  they  needed  it  to 
keep  their  spirits  up!  A  wise  woman  buildeth  her 
own  house,  but  foolish  folks  like  to  pull  it  down,  if 
they  can — and  Mr.  Bandhar  has  bet  heavily — but 
here  comes  Mr.  Fayne.  Ah!  as  an  ox  goeth  to  the 
slaughter-house  so  pride  goeth  before  destruction. 
Let  me  take  your  horse  to  the  stables,  doctor,  and 
minister  comfort  to  the  minds  diseased  there.  Mr. 
Carrington  and  Brett  will  both  rejoice."  So  saying 

202 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

he  took  the  doctor's  place  in  the  buggy  and  drove 
away. 

"A  character  that,"  said  the  doctor,  "and  I  thought 
all  had  passed  away!  Go  into  the  house,  my  dear, 
and  leave  this  young  man  to  me.  I  shall  advise 
change  of  air — to  be  taken  to-morrow  morning." 

At  the  threshold  Mrs.  Love  met  me.  Her  childish 
face  was  very  pale,  great  circles  beneath  her  big  brown 
eyes,  and  her  mop  of  fair  hair  dishevelled. 

To  my  surprise  she  flung  both  arms  around  my 
neck  and,  clinging  to  me,  began  to  cry. 

"Oh,  my  dear!"  she  sobbed,  under  her  breath,  as  if 
fearful  of  being  overheard.  "Oh,  my  lovely  girl,  I 
am  glad,  glad,  glad,  that  you  are  home,  safe  and 
sound!" 

Touched  by  this  show  of  real  affection,  I  kissed  her 
gently.  "Thank  you  for  caring,"  I  said. 

"Caring!"  she  exclaimed,  striving  to  check  her 
tears  while,  releasing  me,  she  sought  and — after  much 
trouble— found  a  pocket  but  no  handkerchief.  I 
gave  her  mine.  "Caring!  I've  been  almost  wild, 
and  those  vile  harpies  in  there,"  indicating  the  door 
of  the  drawing-room  with  a  shake  of  her  curls,  "have 
been  simply  gloating.  I  hate  the  lot  of  them." 

Her  eyes  flashed,  she  stamped  her  foot  and  clinched 
her  fists — a  very  fury. 

"We  were  upset,"  I  explained,  hoping  to  calm  her. 
"The  horses  ran  away.  Herbert  is  hurt." 

"Badly?"  she  demanded. 

"Who's  hurt?"  Lilian  had  come  up  behind  us  un- 
heard. "Herbert?  Seriously,  Theo?  Will  he  die?" 

The  note  of  eager  anxiety  that  this  might  be  so, 
thrilling  through  her  sweet  voice,  had  something  terri- 
ble in  it.  Her  cheeks  wore  their  deepest  rose  tint, 
she  looked  very  lovely.  Nelly  Love  eyed  her  keenly. 

"No,  Lilian,"  I  said,  hastily,  "a  slight  cut  on  the 
temple,  nothing  serious." 

203 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

The  color  left  my  sister's  cheeks,  she  grew  very 
pale.  "Why,  I  do  believe  you're  sorry!"  said  Mrs. 
Love.  "I'm  rather  disappointed,  myself,  that  he's 
not  hurt  enough  to  have  to  stay  a-bed  for  a  week;  or 
hit  hard  enough  to  knock  the  devil  out  of  him,  any- 
way. But  I  don't  want  him  dead — as  you  do. 
What's  he  done  that  you  hate  him  so?  There's  not 
much  of  old  Mother  Eve  in  my  make-up,  as  a  general 
thing,  but  I'm  hanged  if  her  infernal  curiosity  doesn't 
stand  up  on  its  hind  legs  now.  Come,  tell  us  all 
'about  it.  Oh,  dear,  here  they  all  come!" 

It  was  as  she  said.  They  came  en  masse  from  the 
drawing-room  as  Herbert,  escorted  by  Dr.  Strong, 
Mr.  Carrington,  Hervey,  and  some  of  the  servants, 
entered  the  house.  There  followed  an  odd  silence, 
to  which  succeeded  a  very  storm  of  exclamations,  ques-' 
tions,  regrets,  insinuations,  laughter.  It  was  all  ex- 
ceedingly unpleasant,  but  I  had  to  endure  the  discom- 
fort as  best  I  might.  Dr.  Strong  hustled  Herbert  into 
his  room,  which  opened  off  the  hall,  to  plaster  the  ugly 
cut  below  his  temple ;  but  Herbert  paused  in  the  door- 
way and  addressed  the  crowd: 

"Please  forgive  me,  good  people,"  he  said,  with  his 
sunniest  smile,  "for  not  being  killed  outright.  I 
know  I  deserved  it — first  losing  my  way,  then  my 
temper,  and  lastly  my  control  of  the  horses.  I've  not 
been  a  good  boy  to-night." 

"You've  been  a  damn  fool,"  said  Mr.  Bandhar,  with 
startling  frankness,  and  an  awful  solemnity  of  utter- 
ance. He  had  taken  too  much  wine  and  was  cross 
drunk.  "If  Mrs.  Rappelle  had  been  with  me,  I'd 
have  known  how  to  take  care  of  her.  You're  stuck 
on  yourself,  that's  what's  the  matter  with  you.  I  bet 
you'd  bolted,  and  that's  what  got  her  home  safe.  I've 
lost  a  pot  of  money,  I  have,  and  all  because  of  you." 

"Oh,  be  quiet,  do!"  sang  Nelly  Love  at  the  top  of 
her  lungs.  "You  make  me  really  ill!  I  never  can 

204 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

stand  the  top-notch  spirits  of  tipsy  people  when  I'm 
not  so  myself." 

"I  ain't  tipsy — "  protested  Bandhar,  still  more  sol- 
emnly, but  wild  laughter  from  the  others  drowned  his 
voice. 

Mrs.  Allenby  now  came  forward  to  express  her  re- 
grets for  the  accident,  and  the  others  followed  suit. 

At  last — when  I  despaired  of  ever  being  alone — 
they  dispersed  for  the  night.  I  was  thankful  to  gain 
my  own  room,  and  hoped  for  only  my  faithful  Cheva- 
lier as  companion — he  had  not  left  me  for  a  moment 
since  my  return — but  in  this  I  was  disappointed. 
Josette  was  waiting  for  me,  and  her  tear-stained  face 
told  me  that  my  femme  de  chanibre  was  not  without 
affection  for  her  mistress.  Later  Lilian  came  in. 
Her  pretty  face  was  very  pale.  She  looked  care- 
worn, unhappy. 

"I  hope  you're  satisfied,"  she  began,  as  Josette  left 
us,  "for  you  certainly  have  done  it  now!  Rappelle 
will  turn  you  off,  sure  as  shooting,  and  then  what  will 
become  of  me,  I'd  like  to  know?  It  was  all  your 
fault,  because  you  would  choose  that  hateful  ribbon: 

'  Oh,  green's  forsaken,' 
Of  course  you  went  and  got  lost  after  that,  and- 


"Hush !"  I  said,  sternly.  "Do  you  mean  to  say  you 
think  I  liked  being  lost  with  Herbert?  You  gave  me 
the  ribbon  yourself,  but  that  is  neither  here  nor  there, 
it  does  not  matter  now.  Do  you  believe  I  was  late 
on  purpose?" 

"Yes,  I  do,  Theo  Braithe!  You  love  flirting  bet- 
ter than  your  life.  You  thought  Bertie  a  tough  sub- 
ject— I  wish  to  God  he  were  dead,  the  devil — and 
subdue  him  you  must  and  would.  Well,  it's  done. 
He's  a  fool  about  you,  in  his  nasty,  treacherous  way — 
but  you  needn't  flatter  yourself,  it  won't  last  long. 

205 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

How  you  got  home  again  to-night  I  really  don't  know. 
I  thought  your  luck  was  over." 

I  knew  that  I  had  escaped  through  God's  great 
mercy,  but  I  was  shy,  as  always,  about  speaking  of 
my  faith  to  Lilian.  I  thought,  however,  that  she 
ought  to  know  of  Herbert's  true  character,  disagree- 
able as  it  was  to  me  to  speak  of  my  experience;  for, 
although  she  talked  against  him,  I  had  noticed  that 
she  seemed  ever  ready  to  follow  his  suggestions — as  in 
the  matter  of  the  ribbons — and  to  be  guided  by  him. 
So  I  told  her  just  what  had  taken  place.  She  was 
paler  even  than  before,  when  I  had  finished. 

"Then  he  is  in  earnest!"  she  exclaimed,  in  tones  of 
despair.  "What  shall  we  do?  What  can  we  do?" 

"Do?"  I  repeated,  surprised.  "Why,  nothing.  He 
shall  leave  Braithe  to-morrow." 

Here  Lilian's  eyes  fell  upon  my  gown,  and  she 
started  back  in  evident  horror.  "Peacocks'  feathers!" 
she  exclaimed.  "That  dreadful  frock!  First  the 
green  ribbon,  then  that  hateful  pattern — no  wonder 
you  came  to  grief!" 

"You  don't  mention  the  opal's  loss,"  I  said.  I  was 
tired  and  cross,  but  that  did  not  excuse  the  speech ;  and 
I  had  the  grace  to  feel  ashamed  the  moment  it  had 
crossed  my  lips. 

"The  opal !"  cried  Lilian,  her  cheeks  flushing.  "I 
had  forgotten  it — bless  you  for  reminding  me.  The 
opal,  the  dear,  dear  opal!  O  Theo,  we're  all  right, 
after  all." 

She  laughed  softly,  and  began  to  dance  lightly 
about  the  room.  Then  she  swept  a  courtesy,  kissed 
my  cheek,  and  without  a  word  of  explanation  went 
away. 


206 


The  day  had  come  when  I  left  my  little  oratory, 
where  I  had  poured  out  my  heart  in  gratitude  for  my 
safety,  and  flung  myself  upon  my  bed,  hoping  for  a 
few  hours  of  sleep.  But  because  of  my  overstrung 
nerves — for  I  could  not  cease  re-living,  in  my  brain, 
the  wild  happenings  of  the  night — and  my  poignant 
anxiety  in  regard  to  Etienne's  judgment,  this  hope 
proved  vain.  I  was  glad  indeed  when  all  the  clocks 
in  the  house,  in  uneven  chorus,  struck  seven.  Then 
I  rose,  and  dressing  without  the  help  of  my  over-tired 
maid,  went  down  to  breakfast  quietly  with  Jane.  I 
found  her  in  the  dining-room  with  Hervey,  helping 
him  put  the  finishing  touches  to  the  breakfast  table. 

"The  early  bird  catches  the  willing  horse,  Mrs. 
Rappelle,"  said  Hervey,  including  Janey  and  me  in 
his  gentle,  deprecatory  smile,  "and  Miss  Jane  is  help- 
ing me,  as  you  see." 

One  of  his  subordinates  here  summoned  him  from 
the  room. 

"I  wish  he  would  not  get  the  proverbs  all  wrong," 
said  Janey,  sighing  as  if  in  despair  over  this  peculiar- 
ity of  Hervey's.  "If  only  one  might  change  people 
just  a  little  bit,  Theo,  how  nice  it  would  be!" 

"Begin  on  me,  pet,"  I  said,  smiling.  "Tell  me  my 
faults  and  I'll  try  to  change." 

To  my  surprise  the  child  colored  hotly. 

"You  would  rather  not,  Janey?  Very  well.  I'll 
imagine  you  think  me  perfect."  She  got  up  hastily 
and  hid  her  face  on  my  shoulder.  "Janey!"  I  cried, 
much  alarmed.  "My  dear  little  sister!  What  is  it? 
Have  I  hurt  your  feelings?  Tell  me  what  pains  you." 

"I'm  so  afraid  you  will  try  to  change,  and — die!" 
207 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

she  burst  out,  desperately.  "Mrs.  Love  says  you'd  be 
too  good  to  live  without  it,  that  flirting  is  what  keeps 
you  alive.  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear,  now  I've  gone  and 
told!" 

Fortunately  Hervey  came  back  at  this  moment,  to 
say  that  Mr.  Gill  had  come  for  a  puppy  promised  him 
— Brett's  bull  terrier  had  a  fine  growing  family — and 
would  Miss  Jane  say  which  one  she  could  best  spare? 
Forgetting  her  woes  the  child  danced  away  into  the 
hall,  but  presently  reappeared,  followed,  at  what 
might  be  called  a  bashful  distance,  by  Brett  and  Mr. 
Gill. 

"Mrs.  Gill  has  sent  messages,  Theo,"  Janey  an- 
nounced, with  importance,  "and  I  thought  Mr.  Gill 
looked  as  if  he'd  rather  give  'em  to  you  than  to  me." 

"Oh,  Miss  Jane!"  objected  Mr.  Gill  into  his  hat — 
he  held  it  tight  against  his  mouth.  "Dear  me,  not  at 
all." 

I  went  forward  and  greeted  the  two  men.  Both 
told  me,  shyly,  of  their  pleasure  in  learning  of  my  safe 
return. 

"I  mentioned  to  Mrs.  Gill  that  I'd  best  step  over, 
and  pass  a  few  words  as  to  our  congratulations  on  your 
— Mrs.  Gill  said  providential — escape,  and  Mrs.  Gill 
was  quite  agreeable  as  to  my  so  doing,  Mrs.  Rap- 
pelle." 

"  'Twas  a  new  rein,  Mrs.  Rappelle,  as  broke,"  said 
Brett  quickly,  in  his  turn,  "and  I  can't  see  why  them 
horses  ran.  Thank  God,  you're  safe,  anyway." 

I  was  very  grateful  for  such  kind  thoughts  and  said 
so.  The  men  would  not  take  a  cup  of  coffee,  and, 
wishing  to  show  my  appreciation  of  their  courtesy,  I 
took  roses  from  the  vases  on  the  sideboard,  and  offered 
to  each  a  small  bunch.  "I  am  so  fond  of  roses,"  I  said, 
smiling,  "that  Mr.  Rappelle  has  had  a  rose-garden 
made  for  me.  These  monthly  roses  will  bloom  for  me 
all  summer,  I  hope." 

208 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"They  should  be  trewly  pleased  to  do  so,"  said  Mr. 
Gill,  blushing  deeply. 

"Mrs.  Gill  may  not  have  any  of  this  variety,"  I 
added. 

"Mrs.  Gill  will  be  trewly  grateful,"  said  her  young 
husband,  in  a  tone  that  said  he  would  like  to  see  her 
presume  to  be  anything  else. 

"I  hear  you  were  coming  to  look  for  me,  Brett,"  I 
said,  gently,  as  I  gave  him  the  flowers,  "that  you,  with 
Mr.  Carrington,  were  getting  ready  to  do  so  when  I 
arrived.  Thank  you,  Brett.  It  is  very  pleasant  to  me 
to  know  of  the  interest  you  took  in  my  safety." 

"And  now  let's  go  look  at  the  puppies,"  said  Jane, 
mercifully  relieving  Brett  from  the  agony  of  speech. 

Hervey  stared  at  me  as  they  awkwardly  took  their 
leave,  his  head  on  one  side,  an  odd  smile  curving  his 
lips.  Then  he  said,  slowly:  "In  your  beautiful  heart, 
dear  madam,  the  rich  and  the  poor  meet  together, 
since  the  Lord  is  their  Maker,  big  and  small,  after 
all." 

I  smiled  my  thanks  for  his  kind  words.  "And  now, 
Peter,"  I  said,  gayly,  "since  I  have  robbed  you  to 
pay  Paul,  I  must  get  more  roses  for  your  vases."  I 
went  into  the  pantry  for  basket  and  scissors. 

"No,  no,"  said  Hervey,  following  me,  "the  side- 
board looks  as  well  without  flowers.  Why  gild  the  lily 
and  paint  the  rosy  cheek,  dear  madam?" 

I  laughed. 

"I  am  going  to  the  rose-garden,  Hervey,"  I  pro- 
tested, "so  I  may  as  well  gather  some." 

"Gather  your  roses  in  May  and  December,  Mrs. 
Rappelle,  and  may  your  heyday  be  ever  shining,"  was 
the  quaint  response.  And  the  Chevalier  and  I  wan- 
dered on  into  the  garden  together. 

When  we  reached  the  old  sun-dial,  that  had  marked 
the  time  for  so  many  generations  of  Braithes,  I  did 
not  turn  aside  into  the  rose-garden,  but  followed  the 

209 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

path  through  the  woodland  to  the  chapel.  An  odd  de- 
sire to  stand  close  to  Lydia's  grave  impelled  me  thith- 
er. How  thankful  she  would  have  been  for  Herbert's 
failure !  My  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  I  thought  of  my 
unselfish  little  stepmother — of  her  beautiful  generos- 
ity, of  her  loyal  heart. 

In  the  doorway  of  the  chapel  stood  Mr.  Brace.  He 
came  forward  eagerly  to  meet  me,  and,  holding  out 
his  hand,  congratulated  me,  shyly,  upon  my  escape. 
I  was  touched  by  his  friendly  feeling. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said — still  more  shyly — "you  will 
come  in,  and  we  can  offer  up  a  prayer  of  thanksgiving 
together." 

I  assented  gratefully.  And  when  I  returned  to  the 
house  I  was  almost  myself  again.  I  began  to  believe 
I  had  been  worrying  unnecessarily  over  what  Etienne 
might  think.  Perhaps  he,  too,  would  be  kind.  I  had 
stopped  long  enough  in  the  garden  to  gather  some 
roses.  These  I  intended  for  the  green  punch-bowl  in 
the  library,  as  peace-offering  to  Etienne.  I  was 
amused  to  see  that  the  baize  door  was  closed,  showing 
that  Hervey  wished  to  prevent  anyone  from  entering 
his  master's  sanctum  during  his  absence.  Rather  an 
unnecessary  precaution  I  thought  as  I  opened  it,  and 
the  heavy  mahogany  door  it  concealed,  and  entered, 
since  the  only  one  of  our  guests  stirring  appeared  to 
be  Mr.  Bandhar,  of  whom  I  had  caught  a  glimpse  as 
he  was  hurrying  down  to  the  river  for  his  morning 
swim. 

The  room  looked  remarkably  cheerful  in  the  morn- 
ing sunshine.  Even  the  portrait  of  Old  Vivian  wore 
almost  a  benevolent  expression.  Humming  a  little 
French  song,  I  busied  myself  over  my  task,  filling  the 
bowl  on  the  big  table  with  roses.  In  the  midst  of  a 
silent  moment,  when  carefully  detaching  the  thorns 
from  the  stem  of  an  exquisite  red  rosebud,  I  became 
conscious  that  I  was  not  alone.  Glancing  up  I  saw 

210 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

Etienne  standing  on  the  hearth-rug,  watching  me. 
He  had  entered  noiselessly,  through  the  secret  door, 
from  his  room  behind  the  chimney. 

"Etienne!"  I  exclaimed  in  pleased  surprise,  the  col- 
or rushing  into  my  cheeks,  forgetting  for  the  moment 
my  previous  dread  of  meeting  him.  "When  did  you 
come  home?  How  long  have  you  been  here?" 

"I  came  home  over  an  hour  ago,"  he  said,  slowly. 
"I  have  been  here  perhaps  two  minutes — enjoying  a 
picture  of  wifely  devotion." 

I  had  been  so  glad  to  see  him,  but  his  words,  the 
sarcastic  tone  of  his  usually  pleasant  voice,  drove  the 
blood  back  to  my  heart.  Pale,  trembling,  I  looked  at 
him  across  the  roses,  terrified  by  this  realization  of  all 
my  fears. 

"Pray  sit  down,"  he  continued,  pushing  Old  Viv- 
ian's great  arm-chair  toward  me.  "I  have  much  to  say 
to  you." 

But  I  moved  to  a  distant  sofa,  and  seated  myself  in 
the  middle.  Did  he  choose  either  place  beside  me  I 
could  slip  to  the  farther  end,  and  so  avoid  his  close 
neighborhood.  It  was  an  old  sofa,  covered  with  rich- 
ly flowered  brocade,  ruby-colored  to  match  the  vel- 
vet of  the  chairs,  and  on  its  high  back  crouched  the 
two  Leopards  of  the  House.  I  was  tired  of  filling 
the  chair  of  my  great-great-great-grandfather,  while 
Etienne  looked  down  upon  me  from  his  commanding 
position  upon  the  hearth-rug.  I  knew  that  I  should 
need  every  advantage  I  could  seize  in  the  coming 
storm — he  was  so  very  angry,  and  I,  to  a  certain  ex- 
tent, guilty. 

Instead  of  sharing  my  sofa,  however,  he  placed  a 
chair  directly  in  front  of  me,  and  sitting  down,  faced 
me,  as  judge  before  a  culprit.  At  the  same  time  he 
took  a  letter  from  his  pocket  and  said : 

"It's  a  pity  Randoce  can't  see  you  now.  He  would 
rush  for  palette  and  brush  to  paint  your  portrait 

211 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

for — the  hundreth  time,  Theo  ?  How  many  pictures 
of  my  wife  did  the  man  carry  away  ?" 

I  did  not  answer.    I  could  not  answer  sneers. 

"That  wine-colored  brocade  suits  your  rich  beauty, 
Theo.  Stay,  let  me  heap  these  cushions  beneath  this 
arm,  and  lay  your  hand,  with  its  red  rosebud,  upon 
them — so,"  arranging  arm  and  hand  to  suit  his  strange 
fancy.  "Now  you  are  posed  to  read  a  love-letter,  and 
here  is  one." 

He  placed  the  letter  he  had  taken  from  his  pocket 
upon  my  lap;  I  saw  that  it  was  from  Monsieur  Ran- 
doce.  My  cup  was  surely  over-full.  Desperation 
roused  my  Braithe  blood. 

"Perhaps  you  will  read  it  to  me?"  I  said,  softly. 
"But  first  let  me  give  you  this  rose — I  took  all  its 
thorns  off  myself,  Etienne,"  I  smiled  up  at  him,  "but 
I  did  not  prick  my  fingers." 

"No,"  he  thundered  in  sudden  fury,  "you  play 
with  edged  tools  so  often  that  you  have  learned  a 
marvellous  dexterity.  The  thorns  of  a  half-blown 
rose  possess  no  danger  for  your  well-accustomed  fin- 
gers. No,"  he  lowered  his  voice  and  spoke  slowly, 
with  incisive  bitterness,  "it  is  not  your  fingers  that  are 
cut,  but  your  reputation — and  the  hearts  of  otherwise 
honest  men." 

I  would  have  sprung  to  my  feet — he  grasped  my 
hands  and  held  me  down ;  I  would  have  poured  out  the 
flood  of  indignant  words  that  rushed  to  my  lips — but 
he  enforced  silence. 

"Wait  until  I  have  done  before  you  speak,"  he 
said,  imperiously.  "Time  so  gained  may  help  you  to 
arrange  a  defence  of  your  conduct — you  will  need  all 
your  wit  to  find  excuses  that  I  can  accept,  believe 
me." 

"I  make  none,"  I  said,  with  paling  lips,  "since  I 
knew  nothing  of  the  miniature,  and  remained  out  late 
last  night  because  of  an  accident.  You  are  crushing 

212 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

my  hands,  Etienne!"  He  released  them.  "Ah!  my 
lovely  rose,  it  droops — wilted." 

He  took  the  soft,  rosy  thing  from  me,  and,  ab- 
sently, as  if  not  thinking  of  what  he  did,  laid  it  on  the 
chimney-piece  beneath  the  portrait  of  Old  Vivian. 
Returning,  he  drew  his  chair  sidewise  directly  in 
front  of  me,  close  against  my  knees,  and,  thus  impris- 
oning me,  reseated  himself. 

"May  I  ask  how  late  it  was  when  the  'accident'  took 
place?" 

I  remained  silent. 

"You  prefer  not  to  answer?"  he  went  on.  "Per- 
haps it  is  as  well,  since  I  have  heard  too  much  to  be- 
lieve your  probable  version  of  the  affair  readily.  Dr. 
Strong — I  stopped  in  to  see  him  on  my  way  home — 
told  me  what  he  thought  might  exonerate  you ;  of  the 
choice  by  ribbon,  and  the  broken  rein.  As  Brett  re- 
ceived private  orders  in  regard  to  the  horses,  trap,  rib- 
bon— everything,  in  short,  I  am  not  impressed  with 
your  innocence,  as  the  simple  doctor  wished  me  to  be, 
but  merely  by  his  desire  to  shield  you.  Ah,  they  are 
all  alike,  all  infected  with  the  same  madness!"  He 
rose  and  began  to  pace  up  and  down  before  me. 
"Even  that  fool  Bandhar,  the  butt  of  everybody,  bet 
heavily  that  you  would  not  return  because,  as  he  kind- 
ly informs  me,  he  always  loses.  He  adds  that  I  need 
not  insult  him  by  offering  to  reimburse  him,  as  he 
considers  his  money  well  lost  in  your  cause.  He  also 
states  that  if  I  cannot  stay  at  home  to  look  after  you 
myself,  I  had  better  put  you  in  his  charge  when  I  go 
away!" 

Etienne's  voice  was  steeped  in  bitterness,  but  an 
insane  desire  to  laugh  at  Mr.  Bandhar's  wish  to  play 
chaperon — a  Braithe  desire — took  possession  of  me; 
and  between  the  tears  in  my  heart  and  the  laughter  in 
my  blood,  I  felt  on  the  verge  of  an  hysterical  attack. 

"This  moves  you  to  mirth,  I  see,"  said  Etienne,  sit- 
213 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

ting  down  again,  and  looking  sternly  into  my  eyes. 
"Perhaps  it  is  natural  that  it  should.  I  confess  that 
a  woman  of  your  singular  temperament  is  difficult  for 
a  commonplace  man,  like  myself,  to  comprehend. 
When  you  offered  yourself  in  marriage  to  me — 

"What?"  I  exclaimed,  lifting  my  drooping  head  to 
stare  at  him  in  astonishment,  startled  out  of  my  trem- 
ulousness  by  the  extraordinary  nature  of  this  new  in- 
sult. "I  offered  myself?  I  fail  to  understand  you." 

"When  you  offered  yourself  in  marriage  to  me,"  he 
repeated  steadily,"!  was  surprised, but — because  of  my 
knowledge  of  Braithe  ways — not  too  much  so.  How- 
ever, I  was  fool  enough — in  spite  of  this  knowledge — 
to  imagine  that  you  would  behave  yourself  with  com- 
mon decency  when  I  acceded  to  your  rather  strange 
request.  And  I  shall  ask,  no,  command  you  to  do  so 
in  future,"  he  was  shaken  by  a  sudden  tempest  of  pas- 
sion. "I'll  not  have  my  honest  name  soiled  with  the 
dirt  of  a  divorce  court,  either,  so  make  no  mistake.  I 
am  a  common  man.  I  hold  by  the  old  common  ways 
and  beliefs.  You  are  my  wife,  and  my  wife  you  shall 
remain — till  death  us  do  part." 

His  voice  sank,  a  strange  expression  stole  into  his 
hard  eyes,  a  look  of  iron  determination  crept  about  his 
mouth.  I  saw  and  heard,  yet  all  the  time  my  mind 
was  searching,  searching.  My  anger  against  these 
false  charges  was  fast  dying.  He  spoke  again. 

"Because  you  happen  to  amuse  yourself,  to  flirt,  in- 
tellectually, I  hold  you  none  the  less " 

I  had  found  my  clue  at  last,  and  was  so  much  ab- 
sorbed in  following  it  up  that  I  interrupted  him 
rudely: 

"I  understand  it  all,"  I  cried,  in  an  outburst  of 
scornful  indignation.  "He  knew  but  too  well  how  to 
keep  his  wicked  memory  green!  Yes,  you  may  well 
speak  of  the  Braithes  with  contempt.  I  come  of  an 
evil  race,  indeed.  The  letter  he  left  for  me  drove  my 

214 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

poor  Lydia  almost  mad;  it  hastened  her  death.  And 
Lilian's — thank  God  I  did  not  read  it,  though  he 
meant  I  should — Lilian's  killed  the  remnant  of  affec- 
tion that,  after  his  death,  she  seemed  to  have  for  him. 
It  is  my  turn  now." 

Etienne  looked  at  me  as  if  he  thought  I  were  trying 
to  turn  him  from  further  rebuke. 

"Pray  explain  yourself,"  he  said,  coldly. 

I  looked  at  him  with  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling. 
A  great  pity  for  this  honest  man,  who  had  been  cheat- 
ed into  marrying  me,  filled  my  heart. 

"Listen,  Etienne,"  I  said,  gravely,  regaining  my 
calmness  with  an  effort,  "and  tell  me  if  what  I  sus- 
pect is  true.  In  the  letter  that  I  forwarded  you  after 
Mr.  Braithe's  death,  did  he  ask  you  to  marry  me?" 

Etienne  colored  slightly.  "Why  do  you  always  call 
your  father  'Mr.  Braithe'?"  he  asked,  curiously.  "It 
sounds  strangely." 

"He  behaved  as  a  stranger — an  unkind  one — to  his 
children,  Etienne.  How  may  I  think  of  God  as  the 
great  All-Father  if  I  use  the  same  word  for  Mr. 
Braithe  ?  I  wish  that  your  father  had  been  mine,  that 
I  might  have  been  born  Theodora  Rappelle,  child  of 
an  honest  ancestry."  My  eyes  filled  with  tears,  my 
cheeks  flushed.  I  was  deeply  moved. 

Etienne  looked  at  me  with  increased  suspicion  in 
his  cold  eyes,  but  I  paid  no  heed.  He  had  a  right  to 
suspect  me  of  acting  a  part  to  deceive,him;  he  had  a 
right  to  think  the  worst.  My  right,  in  my  turn,  was 
to  see  Mr.  Braithe's  letter.  I  demanded  it. 

"No,  no,"  said  Etienne,  hastily,  "I  prefer  not." 

"Your  preference  is  as  nothing  compared  with  my 
right,"  I  insisted,  "but  if  you  won't  show  it,  tell  me 
the  gist  of  it.  You  are  usually  just,  Etienne." 

He  remained  silent,  but  I  read  the  look  in  his  eyes. 
"You  think  I  already  know  it?"  I  said,  almost  whis- 
pering in  my  horror  at  his  thought 

215 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"I  think  it  extremely  likely." 

This  was,  indeed,  an  insult.  I  knew  that  my  face 
grew  white  as  I  asked,  in  low  tones,  "Have  I  ev.er  lied 
to  you?  Have  I  ever,  to  your  knowledge  or  belief, 
lied  to  any  one?" 

"No,"  he  said,  shortly.  "And  if  you  will  swear,  by 
all  you  hold  sacred — but  what  a  fool  I  am!  You  per- 
jured yourself  when  you  married  me.  You  swore  to 
obey  me.  Of  course  I  knew  you  did  not  mean  the  rest 
of  it,  but  that  I  believed." 

"And  you?"  I  asked,  with  sudden  heat,  "are  you 
blameless?  You  meant  as  little  as  I."  Then  I  re- 
membered his  money,  but  I  thought  I  would  not  speak 
of  it;  it  was  too  hateful,  too  degrading.  Honesty, 
however,  drove  me  to  do  so.  "I  beg  your  pardon,"  I 
said,  slowly.  "You  have  lived  up  to  your  part  of  the 
bargain — more  than  done  so.  Never  mind  about  the 
letter,  Etienne,"  I  went  on,  sadly.  "A  man  so  deeply 
wronged  as  you  is  naturally  suspicious  of  evil.  Had  I 
known  that  letter  was  a  trap,  I  would  have  burned  it. 
You  may  believe  me  or  not  as  you  choose.  Since  I 
am  Mr.  Braithe's  daughter  the  great  law  of  God  or- 
dains that  I  must  suffer  for  his  sin,  but  if  I  can  prevent 
it  you  shall  not." 

"May  I  ask  your  remedy?" 

I  looked  at  him  earnestly,  but  he  had  half  turned 
away,  and  was  staring  into  the  mass  of  ferns  that  filled 
the  old  fireplace. 

"It  is  for  you  to  say  what  you  wish  done,  Etienne. 
I  suppose  a  marriage  like  ours  could — "  I  faltered, 
then  stopped  short.  What  I  felt  I  must  say  was  so  en- 
tirely contrary  to  my  own  view  of  what  was  right. 

"Finish  your  sentence,  Theo." 

"Could  be  annulled,"  I  said  at  last,  desperately. 
"I  think  I  had  better  become  Theo  Braithe  again." 

There  followed  a  long  silence,  then  Etienne  spoke : 

"If  the  name  that  you  now  bear,"  he  said,  slowly, 
21G 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"pleases  you — as  you  say  it  does — why  do  you  make 
this  suggestion?  Not  that  our  marriage  could  be  an- 
nulled; the  law  forbids." 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  myself,"  I  murmured,  "but 
of  you."  Then,  taking  my  courage  in  both  hands,  I 
burst  out  with  the  truth.  "I  think  you  ought  to  be 
free,  Etienne." 

"Free  to  do  what?"  he  questioned. 

I  could  not  bring  myself  to  answer. 

"Free  to  marry  again,  Theo  ?  Can  you  honestly  say 
that  you  think  that  would  be  right?  Answer,  please." 

"No,"  I  said,  under  my  breath. 

"Then  of  what  use  would  my  freedom  be  to  me?" 
he  asked. 

"You  would  be  rid  of  me,  at  least,"  I  insisted,  my 
eyes  brimming  with  the  long-repressed  tears. 

He  took  both  my  hands  gently  in  his. 

"Tell  me,  Theo,"  he  said,  quietly,  "did  you  know 
of  last  night's  arrangements  beforehand?" 

"No,  Etienne." 

"Did  you  have  even  an  inkling  that  the  miniature 
was  being  painted?  Don't  cry,  child." 

"No,  no,  indeed,"  I  said,  earnestly.  "And  I  am  so 
sorry,  so  very  sorry  about  it.  And  I  don't  mean  to 
behave  badly,  Etienne,  I " 

"There,  there,"  he  said,  patting  my  hands  sooth- 
ingly, "perhaps  I've  been  over-hasty  after  all.  Come, 
open  that  poor  chap's  letter,  and  let's  see  if  he  has 
come  to  his  senses.  But  you  must  be  careful,  Theo," 
as,  with  fingers  that  shook  a  little,  I  opened  the  envel- 
ope; "the  part  of  policeman  is  not  at  all  to  my  taste; 
don't  force  it  upon  me  again."  Inside  the  letter,  a 
conventional  one  of  thanks,  was  tucked  a  little  note. 
"Ah!"  said  Etienne,  as  his  keen  eyes  spied  it.  "What 
follows  now,  Theo?" 

"This,"  I  said  calmly,  although  the  blood  surged 
into  my  face,  and  handing  him  the  letter,  "this  you 

217 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

will  read  to  me,  but  the  note  I  shall  beg  you  to  destroy 
unread." 

He  took  them  both  and  sat  watching  me  curiously. 

"Meaning,  since  you  cannot — I  shall  not?"  he  said. 

I  shook  my  head.  "Meaning  simply,"  I  answered, 
gravely,  "that  neither  of  us  wishes  to  treat  a  friend  ill, 
by  watching  him  when  he  is  not  himself."  And  I 
would  have  given  my  rope  of  pearls  to  have  under- 
stood what  the  look  in  Etienne's  eyes  meant. 

Alas!  I  felt  always  at  a  disadvantage  with  him,  be- 
cause he  was  my  benefactor  and  my  husband.  My 
own  feelings  were  in  too  great  a  tumult  to  read  his 
aright.  I  lost  my  power,  my  light  touch,  my  skill  in 
extricating  myself  from  threatening  situations,  when 
I  was  alone  with  him. 

"I  can't  help  being  sorry  for  Kandoce,"  said 
Etienne,  musingly.  "He's  a  good  sort  generally,  and 
he  was  my  friend.  I  don't  want  to  lose  all  my  friends, 
Theo."  He  smiled,  quizzically.  "Supposing  the 
next  time  you  want  to  flirt  you  try  your  hand  on  me. 
What  do  you  say  to  that,  will  it  amuse  you  suffi- 
ciently?" 

"It's  odd  that  you  have  never  been  in  love,"  I  said 
— then  was  horrified  to  have  thought  aloud. 

"Why?"  asked  Etienne,  quickly. 

"Because  you  are  so  warm-hearted,"  I  said,  and  had 
the  grace  to  blush  at  my  words. 

"Who  told  you  I  had  never  been  in  love,  Theo?" 

He  pushed  his  chair  back  as  he  spoke,  and  rose. 
The  interview  was  evidently  over. 

"You  did,  Etienne." 

"Then  I  lied,"  he  said,  coolly.  "I  suppose  I  was 
ashamed  to  confess  my  weakness." 

"O  Etienne!"  I  gasped;  it  seemed  to  me  that 
tragedy  lurked  close  at  hand.  "Did  she — did  she 
die?"  I  spoke  very  softly. 

"No,"  he  said,  quietly,  "she  married." 
218 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

My  tongue  ran  away  with  me  again.  "0  Etienne !" 
I  cried,  "what  will  you  do  if  she  becomes  a  widow  ?" 

"I  most  sincerely  hope  she  may  not,"  he  said,  begin- 
ning to  tear  Monsieur  Randoce's  note  into  small 
pieces,  and  dropping  them — one  by  one — into  the 
waste-paper  basket. 

I  sat  silent,  my  eyes  fixed  upon  him,  but  my 
thoughts  far  away.  Had  I,  by  any  chance,  met  this 
woman?  Was  I  likely  to  meet  her?  Where  did  she 
live  ?  Whom  had  she  married  ? 

"You  regret  that  it  is  destroyed?"  asked  Etienne, 
looking  up,  and  misinterpreting  my  steady  gaze. 
"You  wish  that  you  might  have  read  it?" 

"No,"  I  said,  quickly.  "I  was  not  thinking  of  the 
note  at  all." 

"Of  the  writer,  perhaps,  Theo?" 

"No,"  I  answered,  shortly,  "I  had  forgotten  his 
existence." 

"What  is  it  that  interests  you  then?"  he  inquired. 
"Of  what  are  you  thinking  so  intently.  Ah!"  as  the 
color  swept  into  my  cheeks,  "is  it  possible  that  you 
are  studying  me  with  a  view  to " 

"No,"  I  interrupted,  brusquely,  vexed  by  his  smile, 
by  the  amusement  in  his  eyes,  "I  was  thinking  of — of 
her." 

"Her?"  he  repeated,  looking  at  me  in  surprise. 
"Yes,  yes,"  as  I  would  have  explained,  "I  know  now 
whom  you  mean.  Well,  what  can  I  tell  you  of — 
her?" 

I  bitterly  regretted  having  spoken  on  impulse,  and 
so  betrayed  what  I  felt  to  be  an  unpardonable  curios- 
ity. But  I  had  gone  too  far  to  make  silence  possible. 

"I  was  merely  wondering,"  I  said,  lamely,  though 
striving  to  appear  at  ease,  "if  I  had  had  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  her  when  we  were  in  town."  Then  recov- 
ering myself  a  little,  I  added:  "I  trust  that  she,  at 
least,  is  happily  married!" 

219 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"JSTo,"  said  Etienne,  rather  sadly,  "I  fear  not.  She 
has  married  a  very  ordinary  man,  and  he  fails  to  un- 
derstand her." 

He  fell  silent,  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts.  I  was 
glad  that  I  could  not  read  them — since  that  I  was  for- 
gotten seemed  but  too  probable. 

"I  shall  speak  to  Fayne,"  he  said,  at  last,  abruptly. 
"He  ought  to  remember  that  he  is  grown  up.  The 
time  for  boyish  deviltry  is  over." 

"He  is  going  away  this  morning,"  I  said. 

"Going  away?"  Etienne  repeated,  in  astonishment. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  hastily,  "his  visit  is  ended."  Then 
remembering  that  I  had  not  yet  seen  Mr.  Braithe's 
unpardonable  letter,  the  letter  I  had  so  foolishly  for- 
warded, I  asked  for  it  again.  But  Etienne  evinced 
no  disposition  to  show  it.  I  persisted,  however. 
"Please,  please,  Etienne,"  I  pleaded,  "just  to  prove 
you  really  believe  now  that  I  was  in  ignorance  of  his 
plan.  You  do  believe,  Etienne  ?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  uncomfortably,  "and  if  I  must, 
I  must.  But  I'd  much  rather  not  talk  about  it, 
Theo." 

"I  know.     Go  on,  please.     He  said " 

"Well,  he  said,  that  is  he  gave  me  to  understand — 
that  is " 

"Yes,"  I  murmured,  encouragingly. 

"He  said  that  if  you  sent  the  letter,  Theo,"  Etienne 
spoke  very  gravely,  "it  would  mean  that  you  agreed 
with  him  in  his  wishes.  And  now  let's  forget  all 
about  it.  I  only  hope  he  has  not  made  you  too 
miserable." 

"He  said  more  than  that,"  I  said,  slowly,  thinking 
hard  as  I  went  over  Etienne's  version.  I  knew  Mr. 
Braithe  too  well  to  be  so  kindly  cheated.  "He  said 
that  the  sending  of  his  letter  by  me  meant  that 
I  was  as  anxious,  as  eager,  as  he,  that  the  plan 
might  be  carried  out — that  I  had,  in  point  of  fact,  sug- 

220 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

gested,  Very  delicately,  of  course,  my  dear  Rap- 
pelle '  " 

"Theo!"  cried  Etienne,  staring  at  me  in  almost 
comical  surprise.  "How  can  you  expect  me  to  believe 
that  you  did  not  see  the  letter  when " 

"When  I  repeat  it  word  for  word?"  I  said,  finishing 
his  sentence  for  him.  I  smiled  coldly.  "You  forget, 
Etienne,  that  I  am  his  daughter." 

"Don't  look  so  hard  and  cold,"  he  began. 

Before  he  had  time  to  say  more  there  came  a  gen- 
tle, yet  peremptory,  knock  at  the  door;  and,  without 
waiting  for  permission,  Hervey  entered. 

"Now  what  under  heaven  do  you  want?"  asked 
Etienne,  crossly. 

But  I,  I  smiled  a  kind  welcome.  I  was  only  too 
much  pleased  by  the  coming  of  Hervey  Merle. 


221 


XX 

Hervey  advanced  slowly  toward  us  through  the 
long  room.  Etienne  grew  impatient. 

"Well,  Merle,"  he  said,  "does  Mr.  Bandhar  want 
to  see  me  again,  or  what  is  it?  I  hope  that  you've  not 
come  to  bother  me  about  nothing." 

"Mr.  Bandhar,  sir,"  said  Hervey,  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
me  with  a  look  in  them  that  reminded  me  of  the 
Chevalier,  "Mr.  Bandhar,  sir,  is  in  the  river." 

"What?"  exclaimed  Etienne,  startled. 

"Endeavoring  to  swim,  sir,"  said  Hervey,  still  look- 
ing at  me,  although  addressing  Etienne.  "Leander 
swam  the  hellish  pond,  as  we  all  know,  but  though  you 
can  take  a  horse  to  the  water  you  can't  make  him 
dive." 

Etienne  smiled.  "Then  what  have  you  come  for?" 
he  asked. 

"A  peer  eye  at  the  gates  of  Paradise,  sir,  is  not  to 
my  taste.  I  told  Mr.  Fayne  I'd  let  you  know  if  he 
wanted  to  see  you — he's  outside." 

"Tell  him  to  come  in,"  said  Etienne.  "But  first 
get  me  a  pretty  vase,  Merle,  a  dainty  one.  Mrs.  Rap- 
pelle  has  given  me  a  rose.  I  want  to  put  it  on  my 
desk — it  must  not  wither  too  soon."  He  looked  at  me 
and  smiled.  I  blushed.  His  acceptance  of  the  half- 
crushed  bud  amazed  me.  I  had  thought  it  forgotten, 
in  its  hiding-place  under  the  portrait  of  Old  Vivian. 
Hervey  looked  at  the  floor.  He  was  the  picture  of  a 
meek  family  servant. 

"A  vase,  sir,  for  a  rose?  Oh,  yes,  sir.  The  quality 
of  mercy  is  not  strange,  since  it  is  more  blessed  to  give 

222 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

than  to  receive  sour  looks.  Mr.  Gill  and  Brett,  Mrs. 
Rappelle,  were  very  grateful  for  the  roses.  The  lower 
orders  love  a  charming  giver.  But  Mr.  Fayne  will 
grow  impatient.  Patient  waiters  grow  cross,  as  the 
proverb  says." 

He  selected  a  small  vase  from  a  cabinet  in  a  distant 
corner,  and  left  the  room. 

"Since  you  have  been  distributing  your  roses,"  said 
Etienne,  half  jestingly,  half  sadly,  "I  suppose  I  must 
be  thankful  not  to  have  been  forgotten." 

I  blushed  again,  as  I  said  hurriedly,  "Mrs.  Gill  cares 
so  much  for  flowers,  Etienne,  and  poor  Brett  had  been 
up  all  night  because  of  my  accident.  Some  coachmen 
would  have  scolded." 

"I  thought  it  was  Gill  who  came,"  said  Etienne, 
watching  me  closely. 

"Yes,  but  of  course  his  wife  sent  him,  Etienne." 

"Oh,  of  course,  Theo,"  ironically.  "And  Merle, 
what  did  he  get?"  I  was  silent.  "The  thorns  I 
should  judge,  from  his  curious  remarks.  Really  I 
sometimes  think  he  does  me  the  honor  to  be  jealous 
of  me — not  that  he  has  any  reason  to  be;  you  seem 
more  his  friend  than  mine." 

"Etienne!"  I  murmured,  deprecatingly.  My  color 
came  and  went  under  his  steady  gaze.  I  was  not  en- 
joying myself.  I  even  wished  Herbert  would  come, 
and  wondered  what  had  become  of  him. 

"An  odd  position  mine,"  continued  Etienne,  "when 
you  stop  to  consider  it.  My  butler  one  of  my  rivals ! 
I  suppose  he  thinks  I  ought  to  have  been  content  to 
serve  behind  your  chair,  since  I'm  not  so  far  above  him 
after  all — seeing  that  my  great-grandfather  was," 
turning  to  nod  at  Old  Vivian,  "his  servant." 

"Etienne!"  I  exclaimed,  "how  can  you  say  such 
things!  You  are  unkind." 

"Unkind?"  he  questioned,  but  here  Janey  opened 
the  door  and  thrust  in  her  golden  head. 

223 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"May  I  come  in?"  she  piped,  gayly,  in  her  sweet 
childish  treble.  "Mrs.  Love  is  with  me." 

I  was  grateful  for  the  interruption. 

"Hervey  asked  me  to  put  this  on  your  desk, 
Etienne,"  said  my  small  sister,  carrying,  with  pretty 
care,  the  little  vase,  now  filled  with  water.  "He's 
awful  cross — I  don't  know  why — and  said  something 
about  not  minding  looking  for  a  rich  man  in  the  eye 
of  a  needle  so  much  as  being  obliged  to  hunt  for  a 
snake  in  the  grass." 

"He  means  that  little-tin-god-on-wheels,  Fayne," 
explained  Mrs.  Love,  shaking  her  mop  of  curls  at  me 
and  looking  wicked.  "Hervey's  the  dearest  old  chap 
alive,  and  the  way  he  picks  up  everything  beats  the 
band!  Fayne  was  out-Heroding  Herod  shaking  an- 
cestors off  his  Family  Tree  on  my  head  the  other  day, 
hard  nuts  every  one  of  them  I'll  bet,  begging  your 
pardon,  lovely  girl";  she  caught  my  hand  and  kissed 
it.  "You're  the  saint  that  leavens  the  lump,  you 
know.  Well,  to  continue,  I  got  headache  from  the 
bumps  on  my  occiput  (don't  grin,  Jane,  my  child,  it's 
very  uncivil!)  and  I  went  wild.  'The  first  ancestor 
you  ever  had  was  the  Snake  on  the  Tree  of  Knowl- 
edge,' I  said,  'and  as  I'm  not  Grandmamma  Eve,  you 
needn't  talk  rot  to  me.'  Then  Hervey  he  ups  and 
says — for  he  has  the  big  head,  Hervey  has,  'Those 
who  live  in  glass  houses,  Mrs.  Love,  shouldn't  throw 
stones  from  inside;  since,  though  seeing  through  a 
glass  darkens,  when  a  pane  is  gone  any  fool  can  read 
the  writing  on  the  wall.'  I  suppose  the  dear  old  boy 
doesn't  approve  of  my  style  of  conversation,  Mrs. 
Theo." 

"You  can  afford  to  laugh  at  tall  talk  about  ances- 
try," said  Etienne,  courteously. 

"Ancestry  be  hanged!"  she  said,  quickly.  "Yes, 
I  have  old  blood — and  look  at  me.  A  nice  kind  of 
scion  I  am." 

224 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

"You  are  a  Love,"  I  said,  gently. 

"Theo  doesn't  care  for  old  family,  either,"  said  small 
Jane,  "but  I'm  afraid  I  do.  I  like  all  the  horrible 
things  it  brings,  secrets,  and  ghosts,  and  portraits — " 
She  glanced  over  her  shoulder  at  Old  Vivian.  "Theo 
says  that  every  man  must  stand  on  his  own  feet,  not 
on  a  pile  of  dry  ancestral  bones;  that  he  should  be 
brave,  loyal-hearted,  true — like  you  and  your  people, 
you  know,  Etienne" — she  interpolated,  nodding  to  her 
brother-in-law  and  disregarding  my  efforts  to  silence 
her,  "kind  to  the  weak,  and  all  that.  And  then  she 
doesn't  care  where  he  was  born  or  how  he  was  bred, 
for  it  doesn't  matter,  seeing  that  the  world  is  the  better 
for  his  being  in  it.  Anyway  Christ  was  nothing  but 
a  carpenter." 

A  profound  silence  followed  Jane's  small  sermon. 
Etienne  looked  earnestly  at  me,  as  though  he  were 
trying  to  read  my  inmost  thoughts;  while  Mrs.  Love 
stared  as  earnestly  at  little  Jane.  The  child  always 
seemed  to  fascinate  her. 

"Jane,  my  infant  prodigy,"  she  said  at  last,  "when 
you  weary  of  life  in  these  baronial  halls  come  and 
dwell  with  me.  I  just  adore  you." 

"Then  don't  make  fun  of  me,  Mrs.  Love,"  the  child 
answered  promptly,  "for  my  sense  of  humor  is  as 
crooked  as  my  back,  and  jokes  like  that  make  me 
want  to  cuss  as  hard  as  you  do." 

Mrs.  Love  burst  into  wild  laughter.  "Isn't  she  just 
the  cutest  kid?"  she  cried,  turning  to  me  for  sym- 
pathy. "I'd  rather  have  her  for  a  friend  than  any- 
one I  know — barring  you,  of  course,  Madam  R." 

As  she  stopped  speaking,  Herbert  entered.  He 
was  looking  extremely  handsome,  the  slight  pallor  re- 
sulting from  his  accident  giving  him  a  look  of  intel- 
lectuality. I  saw  that  he  had  replaced  the  white 
sticking-plaster  with  which  the  doctor  had  mended  his 
cut,  by  a  black  strip,  most  becoming  to  his  wonderful 

225 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

complexion  and  sunny  hair.  An  air  of  gentle  melan- 
choly— as  of  one  misunderstood  by  his  fellow-men,  yet 
bearing  them  no  ill-will  for  their  lack  of  comprehen- 
sion— added  to  his  usual  grace  of  manner.  Etienne 
greeted  him  kindly. 

"Glad  you  got  off  with  that  scratch,  Fayne,"  he  said. 
"You  had  a  narrow  escape,  I  understand." 

"Thank  you,  Rappelle,  for  letting  me  down  so 
easy,"  said  Herbert,  gently.  "Most  people  are  fond 
of  jumping  on  the  under  dog — and  that's  what  I  am 
just  now,  I  guess." 

"I  thought  that  people  were  always  sorry  for  the 
under  dog,  Herbert,"  piped  Jane.  "Though  why," 
turning  to  Mrs.  Love  and  me,  and  lowering  her  voice, 
"I  can't  imagine;  for  he's  sometimes  a  nasty,  biting, 
treacherous  thing,  and  deserves  to  be  got  under  and 
punished." 

"She  beats  the  band,  she  certainly  does!"  said  Mrs. 
Love,  in  fond  admiration.  "Hush!  Listen  to  the 
Prodigal  Son  soft-soaping  the  Lord  of  the  Manor. 
Heavens,  but  he  has  the  gift  of  the  gab!  Still,  that's 
easy,  when  a  lie  more  or  less  doesn't  matter  to  you." 

Herbert  was,  indeed,  apologizing  with  easy  grace 
to  Etienne  for  the  misadventure  of  the  past  night. 

"It  was  perfectly  unpardonable  of  me  to  lose  my 
way,"  he  was  saying,  as  we  began  to  listen,  "and  Theo 
could  not  forgive  me.  She  was  quite  right,  too" — he 
flashed  a  quick  glance  at  me — "since  before  turning 
into  a  road  you  should  make  sure  of  it.  I  ought  to 
have  asked  her  first." 

"It  was  natural  enough,"  said  Etienne,  kindly. 
"You  haven't  been  in  this  neighborhood  for  years. 
As  for  the  rein  breaking,  no  one  could  have  foreseen 
that.  They  were  new  ones,  Brett  tells  me,  and  sup- 
posed to  be  of  the  best  make." 

"And  for  pretending  to  be  Bandhar,"  Herbert 
continued,  "for  that's  what  I  did,  you  know,  as 

226 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

Theo  must  have  told  you — well,  I  suppose  it  was 
awfully  silly,  but  Theo's  polite  efforts  to  induce 
me  to  talk,  and  desperate  endeavors  to  make 
believe  that  she  wasn't  bored,  were  too  comical. 
Then,  when  she  fell  asleep  from  ennui,  I  lost  my  bear- 
ings and  took  the  wrong  turn — somehow  I  hated  to 
wake  her,  she  looked  so  tired,  and  I  was  afraid  she 
might  be  cross." 

He  laughed,  a  sweet  boyish  laugh,  full  of  innocent 
youthful  gayety.  Etienne's  suspicions  had  vanished, 
that  was  easily  seen,  and  Mrs.  Love  evidently  began 
to  judge  him  less  harshly.  And  I,  my  heart  full  of 
bitterness,  stood  by  and  listened  to  his  specious  words 
without  being  able  to  give  them  the  lie.  In  spite  of 
myself,  I  had  become  almost  his  accomplice,  since  I 
must,  perforce,  share  in  his  duplicity.  I  suffered  in- 
tensely as  I  stood  silent;  my  eyes  cast  down  that  I 
might,  at  least,  avoid  receiving  another  of  his  glances. 

"I  think  that  you're  awfully  good  to  me,  Rappelle," 
he  went  on,  his  charming  voice  having  just  the  right 
tone  of  guileless  gratitude,  "but  I  can't  be  quite  com- 
fortable while  Theo  is  so  angry — she  does  bear  malice 
so  long.  Although,  of  course,  she's  in  the  right.  She 
always  is — which  is  rough  on  me  and  other  sinners." 

He  sighed,  in  a  quick  boyish  way,  then,  with  appar- 
ent effort,  turned  the  sigh  into  a  second  laugh — a  sad 
one.  He  had  managed,  with  consummate  cleverness, 
to  make  me  appear  an  ill-tempered,  straitlaced 
creature;  while  he  himself  was  but  a  rather  thought- 
less fellow,  too  fond  of  teasing  an  old  playmate.  I 
knew,  without  raising  my  eyes,  that  Etienne  had  be- 
gun to  feel  ashamed  of  his  anger  toward  me,  that  he 
would  be  unnecessarily  hospitable  to  Herbert  in  conse- 
quence. I  should  be  obliged  to  join  in  asking  Her- 
bert to  prolong  his  visit,  or  be  considered  unwarrant- 
ably unforgiving. 

"Won't  you  forgive  me  before  I  go,  Dolly?"  Her- 
227 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

bert  said,  suddenly.     "Just  for  the  sake  of  auld  lang 
syne?" 

I  glanced  at  Etienne  to  see  how  he  would  take  this 
daring  speech,  but  like  all  truly  generous  people  who 
believe  that  they  have  done  an  injustice,  he  was  deter- 
mined, apparently,  to  look  upon  Herbert  as  nothing 
but  my  boy  cousin.  Although  I  admired  this  gener- 
ous spirit,  somehow  I  felt  exasperated  when  Etienne 
said: 

"Nonsense,  Fayne!  Theo  and  I  look  to  you  to 
help  us  through  with  our  house-parties.  You  are 
booked  to  stop  with  us  all  summer — if  you  will." 

Herbert's  splendid  blue  eyes  flashed  his  triumph 
into  mine.  "May  I  really  stay,  Dora?"  he  asked. 

This  was  too  much  for  my  sorely  tried  temper. 
But — and  I,  myself,  could  not  understand  why — my 
wrath  was  against  Etienne.  Herbert  had  suddenly 
become  as  nothing  in  my  eyes.  "Since  Mr.  Rappelle 
needs  you,  yes,"  I  said,  softly.  "And,  doubtless,  he 
will  like  me  to  give  you  this  rose." 

So  saying,  I  took  from  my  bunch  on  the  table  a  full- 
blown tea-rose,  and  gave  it  to  him.  Forgetting  his 
role  of  guileless  playfellow,  he  sprang  forward,  took  it 
with  too  great  eagerness — and  pricked  his  fingers.  I 
had  not  cared  to  remove  any  thorns  for  him. 

"Ah,  Theo!"  he  exclaimed,  reproachfully,  "it  is  full 
of  thorns." 

"Why,  yes,"  I  said,  smiling,  "Braithe  fingers  know 
how  to  handle  thorns.  We  wound  others  with  them 
— but  skilfully  avoid  them  ourselves." 

"You  have  certainly  wounded  me,"  he  said,  slowly. 

And  I  had  the  poor  satisfaction  of  seeing  Etienne 
uneasy. 

"Greek  meeting  Greek,  isn't  it?"  said  Mrs.  Love, 
with  affected  carelessness. 

I  felt  ashamed  of  myself  for — so  it  seemed  to  me — 
the  hundredth  time  that  morning.  I  had  no  chance 

228 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

to  mend  matters,  however,  since  the  room  was  sud- 
denly invaded  by  a  crowd  of  our  guests.  I  was  told 
that  tableaux  had  been  suggested  for  Friday  evening 
of  that  week.  They  were  to  be  given  for  a  local 
charity,  so  that  a  number  of  people  might  come  with- 
out impropriety. 

"We  remembered  that  you  were  in  mourning,  dear 
Mrs.  Rappelle,"  Mrs.  Allenby  sweetly  explained. 

They  had  come  to  the  library  to  search  for  subjects 
and  costumes.  A  pleasant  bustle  ensued.  The  large 
room  was  filled  with  the  sound  of  well-modulated 
voices,  the  flutter  of  laces  and  ribbons,  the  scent  of  orris. 
I  had  an  odd  sensation  of  being  an  outsider,  of  having 
no  real  place  in  this  gay  throng ;  I  felt  old,  grave,  sad, 
and  over-burdened  by  the  weight  my  dead  father  had 
placed  upon  my  shoulders.  Already  the  knowledge 
of  it  had  unsteadied  me.  I  did  not  feel  like  myself, 
but  instead  irritable,  captious,  hard  to  please.  I 
needed  solitude,  I  longed  for  the  retirement  of  my 
cell ;  but  I  was  hostess,  so  must  remain. 

I  was  roused  from  my  abstraction  by  Mrs.  Allenby, 
who  asked  to  see  my  opal. 

"It  has  so  interesting  a  story,"  she  said,  "that  I 
long  to  see  it." 

I  turned  to  Lilian — who  was  endeavoring  to  dis- 
suade the  others  from  their  wish  to  have  the  tableaux 
on  a  Friday. 

"It  will  bring  bad  luck,"  she  said,  with  pretty 
earnestness — Mr.  Carrington  stood  beside  her,  an 
admiring  smile  upon  his  lips — "and  the  tableaux  will 
be  a  failure.  Why  not  say  Monday  evening? — that 
will  give  us  more  time  to  prepare." 

"You  forget,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Allenby,  "that 
we  must  leave  you  on  Monday,  much,  as  I  am  sure,  we 
should  all  like  to  stay  on  indefinitely.  We  have  had 
such  a  perfect  time,"  she  murmured  politely  to  me. 

Mechanically  I  gave  the  civil  answer  required,  too 
229 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

much  interested  by  Herbert's  instant  effort  to  thwart 
Lilian's  wish  to  know  very  well  what  I  was 
saying. 

"If  you  listen  to  my  pretty  cousin,  and  pay  atten- 
tion to  her  whimsies,"  he  said,  a  covert  sneer  in  his 
voice  and  eyes,  "the  tableaux  are  doomed.  At  the 
eleventh  hour  some  evil  omen  will  be  sure  to  wet- 
blanket  the  whole  affair." 

I  looked  with  some  anxiety  at  Lilian,  always  fearing 
a  sudden  explosion,  yet  hating  the  odd  way  in  which 
she  deferred  to  his  every  suggestion.  Their  attitude 
toward  one  another  puzzled  and  irritated  me  at  the 
same  time.  If  she  really  detested  him  as  much  as 
she  said,  why  did  she  yield  to  his  wishes?  I  should 
have  thought  that  she  feared  him,  had  I  not  known 
that  the  idea  was  ridiculous.  From  so  unimportant  a 
kinsman  as  Herbert  Fayne,  what  had  Etienne  Rap- 
pelle's  sister-in-law  to  fear?  Nothing,  I  assured  my- 
self— yet  my  uneasiness  remained.  Yielding  to  a 
sudden  impulse  to  interfere,  I  spoke  to  her  of  my  opal 
before  she  had  time  to  answer  Herbert. 

"Have  you  found  the  Gypsy's  Opal,  Lilian?"  I 
asked,  "or  haven't  you  hunted  for  it  yet?" 

She  looked  at  me  with  an  expression  of  gratitude  in 
her  pretty  blue  eyes,  an  expression  I  had  never  before 
seen  in  them.  The  lovely  flush  of  pleasant  excite- 
ment stained  her  cheeks,  from  which  Herbert's  sneer- 
ing words  had  robbed  their  usual  faint  color. 

"No,  Theo,"  she  said,  her  voice  so  sweet  and  gentle 
that  it  was  a  pleasure  to  listen — that  Mr.  Carrington 
thought  so  was  almost  amusingly  apparent — "no,  not 
yet.  I  am  sorry,  but  you  needn't  worry;  I  feel  quite 
sure  that  it  is  safe." 

As  she  finished  speaking  she  looked  at  Herbert, 
and  I  saw  that  the  look  puzzled  him  as  much  as  it 
startled  me.  For  Lilian's  eyes  never  held  that  ex- 
pression of  exquisite,  yet  dreamy,  satisfaction  unless 

230 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

she  were  hugging  to  her  heart  some — to  me — rather 
terrible  idea. 

That  morning  I  seemed  destined  to  be  startled, 
since  no  sooner  had  Etienne  heard  Lilian's  careless 
words  than  he  said,  rather  sternly: 

"I  beg  that  you  will  search  for  it  at  once,  Lilian. 
I  had  rather  Theo  lost  all  her  jewels  than  the  Gypsy's 
Opal.  It  is  something  I  could  not  replace." 

Lilian  answered  with  graceful  meekness,  but  I,  I 
knew  that  for  some  curious  reason  she  would  be  in  no 
haste  to  obey.  And  suddenly  I  felt  less  anxiety  about 
the  gem,  myself. 


231 


XXI 

As  had  been  at  first  suggested,  the  tableaux  were 
given  on  Friday  evening.  The  moon  had  cast  the 
final  vote  against  Lilian,  since  on  Saturday  night  it 
would  rise  too  late  to  act  as  street  lamp  for  those  return- 
ing to  Hilltown.  Lilian  yielded  gracefully  to  what 
she  declared,  in  private  to  me,  was  all  Herbert's  fault. 
Much  as  I  disapproved  of  Herbert — and  his  ways — I 
failed  to  see  how  he  had  had  any  influence  in  the  mat- 
ter. When  I  pressed  her  for  an  explanation  she  would 
give  none,  merely  grumbling  that  she  wondered  at  my 
taste,  in  always  standing  up  for  so  nasty  a  person  as 
Herbert  Fayne! 

Of  course  there  were  many  heart-burnings  and 
jealousies  attending  the  development  of  the  tableaux; 
but  by  the  time  Friday  evening  came,  these  had  either 
been  overcome  or  forced  into  the  background.  Mrs. 
Allenby  very  good-naturedly  lent  her  splendid  collec- 
tion of  gems  to  Mrs.  Ainslie  for  the  tableau  in  which 
she  was  to  appear;  and  I  provided  Lilian  with  the 
pearls  and  diamonds  for  the  jewel  scene  from  Faust. 
She  was  to  be  Marguerite. 

We  had  a  fine  evening,  and  the  entire  world  of  Hill- 
town  came.  Janey,  with  the  Chevalier  in  leash  as 
companion,  was  to  sit  up  until  twelve  o'clock  for  the 
first  time  in  her  short  life;  and  the  child's  one  anxiety 
was  that  her  favorite,  Mrs.  Strong,  should  come  in  time 
to  secure  a  good  seat.  I  did  not  dare  hope  for  the 
presence  of  the  busy  doctor;  too  many  people  with 
heavy  hearts  were  in  need  of  him  to  permit  of  his 

232 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

gratifying  the  gay  ones.  But  Jane  and  I  had  ex- 
pected to  welcome  his  wife  among  the  first  comers, 
and  the  child  was  proportionately  disappointed  when 
she  failed  to  appear.  At  the  last  moment,  when  the 
place  Jane  had  so  carefully  reserved  for  her  had  been 
taken,  and  when  a  deep  pucker  of  care  had  grown 
between  my  little  sister's  delicate  eyebrows,  a  carriage 
dashed  up  to  the  door,  and  our  friend  bustled  in.  I 
went  with  her  myself  to  the  dressing-room. 

"So  sorry  to  be  late,"  she  explained,  breathlessly,  as 
she  tossed  aside  the  lace  scarf,  and  patted  her  hair  into 
proper  outline,  "but  Mr.  Fadd  arrived  just  as  we  were 
finishing  supper,  and  I  had  to  see  to  a  room  for  him. 
Yes,  my  dear,  I  know  you  would  have  been  glad  to 
have  had  him  come,  too;  I  told  him  so — but  he's  shy; 
I  think  most  learned  people  seem  to  be ;  why,  the  doc- 
tor's as  bashful  as  a  boy  when  he  isn't  professional. 
Did  you  know  it?" 

I  did  know  it,  but  took  care  not  to  say  so. 

"Yes,  I  asked  Mr.  Fadd  to  come,  but  the  doctor 
had  an  hour  off,  so  the  professor — yes,  he's  a  professor, 
but  I  forget  of  what — stayed  to  talk  with  him.  Don't 
I  like  him,  Theo?  What  makes  you  ask  that?  Yes, 
I  like  him"  — she  took  my  arm  and  we  walked  slowly 
toward  the  drawing-room — "but  he  scares  me — that's 
the  truth!  You  see,"  lowering  her  voice  and  speak- 
ing confidentially,  "he's  occult." 

"Occult — "  I  repeated,  somewhat  puzzled. 

"Yes,  my  dear,  occult.  He  lived  in  India — 
Thibet — Ceylon,  for  years,  and  studied  all  sorts  of 
queer  things.  You  would  never  think  it  to  look  at 
him — a  real  pleasant  man,  so  sympathetic  and  kind. 
No,  my  dear,  not  old — he's  not  fifty  yet." 

"I  wish  he  had  come  to-night,"  I  said,  "I  should 
like  to  have  met  him." 

We  entered  the  drawing-room,  where,  at  the  north- 
ern end,  the  stage  had  been  erected,  and  found  that 

233 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

we  must  content  ourselves  with  seats  in  the  back- 
ground, all  the  others  being  occupied. 

"You  will  probably  have  the  chance  of  a  chat  with 
Mr.  Fadd  before  the  week  is  over,"  said  Mrs.  Strong, 
as  we  took  our  places.  "He's  crazy  to  see  Braithe 
House,  and  the  Gypsy's  Opal.  Yes,  the  doctor  told 
him  all  the  stories.  Oh,  how  wonderful!"  as,  the  cur- 
tain going  up,  an  end  was  put  to  her  lively  chatter. 

I  wanted  to  hear  more  of  the  strange  professor.  I 
remembered  that  he  had  been  a  college  chum  of  Dr. 
Strong;  and  that  Mrs.  Strong  had  before  alluded  to 
their  friendship,  and  to  the  doctor's  faith  in  his 
friend's  rare  strength  of  mind  and  heart.  But  what 
I  saw  banished  all  thoughts  of  Professor  Fadd. 

Upon  the  stage  wall  hung  two  portraits,  side  by 
side.  At  first  I  thought  that  they  had  been  brought 
from  their  respective  places  in  the  library  and  dining- 
room,  and  wondered  why  this  had  been  done;  then  I 
realized  that,  instead  of  the  painted  pictures  of  Old 
Vivian  and  his  wife,  the  Lady  Sophia,  I  was  looking 
at  Lilian,  and  Herbert  Fayne.  Their  likeness  to  the 
two  dead  and  gone  Braithes  was  so  great  that  it  was 
extremely  unpleasant  to  me.  I  looked  away  from 
them.  I  was  thankful  when  the  curtain  fell.  How 
could  they  have  chosen  to  represent  such  people !  But 
the  audience  applauded. 

Among  the  tableaux  that  followed,  the  one  in  which 
I  was  most  interested  was  that  where  Lilian  was  to 
take  the  part  of  Marguerite.  Owing  to  the  delays 
that  always  occur  with  amateurs,  this  did  not  come 
until  just  before  midnight.  When  the  curtain  at  last 
lifted,  I  could  not  but  sigh  with  satisfaction  over 
Lilian's  success.  She  was  rarely  lovely  in  the  quaintly 
fashioned  costume,  her  beautiful  hair  hanging  in  two 
braids  far  below  her  waist.  At  her  feet  knelt  Mrs. 
Allenby — as  the  nurse — holding  the  jewel  box,  from 
which  she  was  lifting  my  riviere  of  diamonds;  while 

234 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

around  Lilian's  graceful  throat  drooped  my  great  rope 
of  pearls.  She  looked,  with  an  expression  of  wonder- 
ing delight,  at  her  own  sweet  girlish  reflection  in  the 
mirror  that  she  held  in  her  hand. 

Behind  Lilian's  chair,  a  sneering  smile  upon  his 
lips,  lurked  Mephistophcles — Major  O'Leary. 

The  audience,  after  a  moment  of  silent  delight, 
burst  into  a  very  storm  of  applause;  and,  the  curtain 
falling,  clapped  persistently  until  it  was  again  raised. 
This  was  done  three  times.  At  the  last,  when  again 
all  was  quiet — the  people  really  enjoying  the  charm- 
ing picture — Lilian's  eyes  suddenly  dilated;  she  half 
rose  from  her  chair,  and  turning  her  gaze  from  the 
mirror  in  her  hand,  she  faced  us,  saying,  in  a  strained 
whisper: 

"Listen!     What  is  that — coming?" 

The  look  of  expectant  dread  in  her  eyes  was  so 
awful,  her  face  had  grown  so  ghastly  beneath  its  rouge, 
that,  losing  my  presence  of  mind,  I  did  nothing  to 
break  the  spell  or  help  her;  but,  with  the  others,  held 
my  breath  and  listened,  too. 

Then,  far  down  the  avenue,  I  heard  the  sound  of 
horses  galloping;  a  carriage  was  coming,  driven  at  a 
furious  pace.  Before  I  could  move,  or  speak,  it  had 
reached  the  house  and  stopped  before  the  door. 

Lilian  stood  up.  The  mirror  fell  from  her  hands — 
crashing  to  atoms  at  her  feet. 

"The  Portent!"  she  half  gasped,  half  whispered. 
"O  Theo— Theo— Theo!" 

During  the  instant  of  death-like  silence  that  fol- 
lowed, the  air  seemed  filled  with  the  harsh  voice  of 
the  old  clock  at  the  stables,  tolling  twelve — and  Car- 
rington,  springing  forward  from  the  stage  side,  caught 
her,  as  she  fell  forward  unconscious. 

As  I  made  my  way  hastily  toward  the  door,  the 
room  was  suddenly  flooded  with  light.  Hervey,  en- 
tering, had  turned  up  the  lamps. 

235 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"Mrs.  Rossitur's  carriage,"  he  announced,  in  a  high 
unnatural  key. 

One  of  the  women  in  the  audience  laughed  hysteric- 
ally, and  everybody  began  to  talk  at  once.  Then 
Hervey  spoke  again: 

"I  took  the  liberty  of  sending — the  carriage,  to  the 
stables."  And  added,  in  an  awed  undertone,  as  if  but 
thinking  aloud,  "The  clock  has  just  struck  twelve!" 

Mrs.  Rossitur,  the  great  personage  of  Hilltown,  gave 
Hervey  a  pale  smile  of  approval;  and  he  followed  me 
into  the  hall.  Etienne,  hurrying  to  meet  me,  to  tell 
me  not  to  be  frightened,  that  Lilian  was  coming  to, 
broke  off  to  question  Hervey.  There  was  an  odd  note 
in  his  voice,  and  I  noticed  that  his  lips  were  white. 

"The  Rossitur  carriage,  was  it,  Merle  ?" 

"I  said  Rossitur,"  said  Hervey,  under  his  breath 
and  eying  his  master  strangely.  "A  rose — or  any 
other  name,  would  serve  as  well." 

Etienne  glanced  quickly  at  me,  then  grew  still  paler. 
"That's  all  right,"  he  said,  with  assumed  cheerfulness; 
"Brett  will  look  after  anybody's  carriage.  Como, 
Theo — Lilian  is  here." 

He  took  my  hand  in  his,  as  if  I  had  been  a  child 
whom  he  wished  to  protect,  and  led  me  to  the  library. 
Chancing  to  look  down  the  short  entrance  hall  as  we 
passed,  I  was  surprised  to  see  that  the  ponderous  oak 
door  was  closed,  and  securely  fastened  with  its  heavy 
bolts.  It  was  as  if  Hervey  had,  in  sudden  terror, 
striven  to  lock  out  some  unwelcome  guest.  I  saw  that 
Etienne  noticed  this  at  the  same  moment,  but  he  made 
no  comment. 

I  found  Lilian  opening  bewildered  eyes — they 
looked  like  big  blue  flowers — and  staring  about  her  in 
wonder.  Begging  Etienne  to  go  back  to  the  draw- 
ing-room and  look  after  Janey,  I  went  quickly  to 
Lilian,  anxious  to  be  the  first  to  speak  to  her.  Mrs. 
Ainslie  and  Mrs.  Love,  who  had  been  taking  care  of 

236 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

her,  drew  back  in  a  frightened  way,  as  I  approached, 
with  covert,  awe-struck  glances.  I  did  not  lose  any 
time  but,  kneeling  beside  Lilian,  whispered  Hervey's 
announcement. 

"Mrs.  Rossitur's  carriage,"  she  repeated  in  low 
tones.  "Are  you  sure,  Theo?"  and  I  saw  that  she 
did  not  believe  me. 

"If  not  Mrs.  Rossitur's,  then  some  other  person's, 
Lilian.  Hervey  came  in  and  called  it  out." 

"Give  me  brandy,"  she  commanded,  but  still  speak- 
ing low,  "a  lot  of  it!  Make  those  people  go  away." 

I  begged  Mrs.  Love  to  hurry  on  the  next  tableau, 
which  was  also  the  last;  and,  although  she  knew  that 
Mr.  Carrington  was  already  doing  so,  she  was  quick 
to  understand  our  desire  to  be  alone,  and,  taking  Mrs. 
Ainslie  with  her,  left  the  room. 

Herbert,  the  only  other  person  in  the  library  when 
I  entered,  had  gone  for  the  brandy.  He  now  appeared 
at  the  door. 

"Don't  let  him  in,"  said  Lilian,  fiercely;  "I  won't 
have  him  gloating  over — It.  I  want  only  you." 

Going  to  meet  him,  I  took  the  tray,  with  its  de- 
canter and  glasses,  from  his  hand. 

"She  wishes  to  be  alone,  Herbert  Thank  you  for 
bringing  this." 

"Do  you  believe  in  the  old  rot,  Dolly?"  he  asked, 
scanning  my  face  eagerly. 

"No,"  I  answered,  softly.     "But  go,  please." 

"There  was  no  carriage,  Dolly.  I  ran  out  in  time 
to  see." 

"Some  echo,  then,"  I  said  quickly.  "It  has  proba- 
bly given  rise  to  the  old  belief.  Now  go." 

"One  moment,  Dolly.  Although  you  don't  believe 
in  the  Death  Coach,  do  you  dread  having  people  ask 
you  about  it?  Shall  you  hate  to  have  the  subject 
mentioned — as  have  aU  the  Braithes,  from  time  im- 
memorial?" 

237 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 
"Yes,  Herbert.     I  don't  know  why- 


"I  feel  the  same  way,"  lie  said,  earnestly,  "and  I 
can't  make  it  out.  My  backbone  stiffens  and  I  feel 
haughty  as  the  devil,  the  minute  it's  even  hinted  at. 
Do  you?" 

"Oh,  please  run  away,  Herbert,"  I  urged.  I  did 
not  want  him  to  know  how  completely  I  shared  his 
feelings,  being  no  more  able  to  account  for  them 
than  he. 

"Are  you  never  coming,  Theo?"  called  Lilian,  irri- 
tably. 

"Give  her  a  bath,"  said  Herbert,  pointing  to  the 
brandy.  "Soak  her  full !  She  deserves  to  be  choked 
for  yelling  out  that  way  in  public.  Ah,  my  dearest 
Dolly,  you  and  I  are  twin  souls  after  all!"  But  he 
went  away  after  this  shot,  so  I  cared  little  about  it. 
That  I  hated,  like  him,  to  have  the  old  superstition 
mentioned,  troubled  me. 

Lilian  insisted  upon  drinking  a  very  large  portion 
of  the  brandy,  but  it  seemed  only  to  give  her  strength. 

"Theo,"  she  said,  solemnly,  "which  one  has  it  come 
for?  You,  or  me,  or  Janey?  Or  for  that  devil,  Her- 
bert Fayne?  For  every  drop  of  blood  in  his  body  is 
Braithe  blood!  He's  threatened,  as  well  as  we." 
Then,  with  a  sudden  fury,  she  turned  and  shook  her 
small  clinched  hand  at  Old  Vivian,  gazing  malevo- 
lently down  upon  us  from  his  gilt  frame.  "Oh,  you 
old  fiend,"  she  hissed  between  her  teeth,  "I  hate  you 
so!  You're  father's  very  image — and  Herbert's — 
and  all  the  hellish  lot  of  Braithes !  You  set  us  all 
going,  you're  responsible  for  all  this  misery.  I  hope 
you're  in  torture  now — yes,  awful  torture!" 

The  door  was  pushed  cautiously  open  and  little 
Jane,  the  Chevalier  trotting  meekly  in  leash  by  her 
side,  came  in.  She  looked  at  Lilian  with  grave  dis- 
approval in  her  beautiful  eyes,  and  coming  close  to 
me  laid  her  small  hand  in  mine. 

238 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"Well,  darling,"  I  said,  as  I  stooped  and  kissed  her 
— the  unnatural  brilliancy  of  her  eyes  and  cheeks 
alarmed  me — "you  see  poor  Lilian  is  quite  herself 
again." 

"Yes,"  said  Jane,  coldly,  "but  she  has  been  herself, 
all  through.  What  if  you  did  hear  the  Death  Coach, 
Lilian,"  turning  her  stern  gaze  upon  her  sister,  "was 
that  any  reason  you  should  speak  of  it  to  the  world? 
You  have  no  courage — you  are  a  coward!" 

"Oh,  you  shut  up,"  commanded  Lilian,  in  sweet 
low  tones.  "I  shan't  stand  impudence  from  a  brat 
like  you!" 

The  child  lifted  her  head  proudly.  "The  Braithes 
have  always  been  bad,"  she  said,  haughtily,  "but  you 
are  the  first  coward  of  the  name." 

"How  dare  you!"  cried  Lilian,  angrily. 

"Being — most  unfortunately — a  Braithe,"  said 
poor  little  Jane,  "I  dare  anything!  I  have  dared,  just 
now,  to  lie.  When  a  person  (she  can't  be  a  gentle- 
woman, Theo,  or  she  wouldn't  poke  and  pry)  began  to 
ask  me  questions,  I  told  her  I  had  heard  no  carriage, 
that  we  had  no  Portent.  I  told  her  that  you,  Lilian, 
were  subject  to  these  attacks,  and  that  she  must  not 
be  alarmed." 

"Oh,  you  nasty  little  thing!"  screamed  Lilian, 
stamping  her  foot,  "I  hope  the  Coach  came  for  you." 

"I  hope  it  did,"  said  the  child,  courageously,  al- 
though her  great  eyes  began  to  fill  with  tears,  "for 
I'm  not  worth  much." 

I  caught  her  in  my  arms,  and  held  her  close  pressed 
to  my  breast.  I  was  so  near  tears  of  admiration  for 
her  unselfishness  that,  in  order  not  to  cry,  I  laughed — 
speak  I  could  not. 

"Your  pretty  ripple  laugh,"  she  said,  patting  my 
cheek  gently.  "I  love  it,  yet — somehow — it  hurts  a 
little." 

"Foolish  little  Jane!"  I  said,  gaining  control  of  my- 
239 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

self.  "You  spoil  me  with  your  pretty  speeches.  But 
listen,  dear,  you  are  not  to  worry.  You  have  told  no 
lie.  There  is  no  Death  Coach — nor  any  such  uncanny 
thing.  Only  the  foolish  believe  in  such  nonsense." 

"Then  it  was  Mrs.  Rossitur's  carriage  ?"  asked  little 
Jane. 

"It  may  have  been  no  carriage  driving  up  to  our 
door,  Jane,"  I  said,  very  seriously,  "but  only  the  echo 
of  one  going  somewhere  else.  That  is  what  I  believe." 

"Then  I'll  believe  it,  too,"  said  Jane,  with  sudden 
cheerfulness,  "for  I  mean  to  be  as  much  like  you  as 
I  can.  And  when  the  Phantom  Coach  does  come, 
Theo,  let's  get  in  and  drive  away  gayly.  With  Death 
as  coachman  we  can  rush  along  at  a  famous  pace,  and 
when  I  call  out  to  him  where  to  drive  I  mean  to  be 
able  to  say — as  you  say,  'Home,'  to  Brett — 'Heaven, 
please,  Azrael!' ' 


240 


YYTT 

I  persuaded  Janey  to  keep  the  Chevalier  with  her 
that  night,  hoping  his  warm  presence — on  the  foot  of 
her  bed — might  soothe  the  child  to  sleep.  I  had  no 
difficulty  in  sleeping  myself,  since  the  echo  of  gallop- 
ing hoofs  held  no  terrors  for  me.  But,  although  I 
had  thought  my  mind  at  ease,  I  was  roused  from  heavy 
slumber,  at  dawn,  by  a  bad  dream. 

I  dreamed  that  I  was  in  the  chapel  at  midnight, 
yet  it  was  not  dark,  because  of  an  odd  light  from  with- 
out— an  uncanny  glare,  that  made  the  pictured  saints 
of  the  windows  seem  alive  and  moving.  The  little 
church  was  decked  with  white  flowers  and  large  bows 
of  white  ribbon;  but,  although  I  knew  there  was  to 
be  a  wedding,  I  could  think  only  of  the  funeral  of  a 
child.  Then  far  down  the  avenue  I  heard  the  rum- 
ble of  wheels,  the  sound  of  horses  running;  the  bridal 
coach  was  approaching,  and  at  a  wild  pace. 

I  dreamed  that  I  drew  back  into  a  pew  near  the 
door,  wondering,  and  a  little  alarmed,  to  find  myself 
the  only  guest.  Then  it  came  to  me  that  I  was  there 
to  see  Etienne  married  to  the  woman  he  loved.  And 
I  felt  so  unhappy  that  my  heart-anguish  was  as  a  bodily 
pain,  making  me  faint  and  ill. 

The  light  outside  flared  up,  died  down,  and  came 
again,  as  though  the  chapel  were  surrounded  by  an 
assemblage  holding  torches — an  assemblage  from 
which  the  saints  in  the  windows  seemed  to  shrink. 
The  heavy  door  opened  noiselessly,  and  the  bride  en- 
tered and  advanced  slowly  up  the  aisle.  She  was 

241 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

tall  and  gaunt,  but  I  could  not  see  her  face  because 
of  the  bridal  veil. 

Then  I  saw  that  the  bridegroom  was  waiting  for 
her  at  the  chancel  rail.  He,  also,  was  tall;  a  man  of 
commanding  figure,  of  a  graceful  presence.  But  he 
was  strangely  dressed  for  a  bridegroom,  since  he  wore 
a  mask  and  domino  of  black.  He  was  not  Etienne. 

The  glare  died  down,  every  object  grew  dim,  I  could 
scarcely  see.  I  could  not  hear  the  words  of  the 
service  because  of  the  organ  that  suddenly  pealed 
forth — no  wedding  march,  but  a  requiem  for  the  dead. 
A  great  horror  came  upon  me,  I  tried  to  get  to  the 
door  to  escape.  I  was  too  late.  The  bridal  pair — 
now  man  and  wife — had  turned,  were  coming  down 
the  aisle. 

I  drew  back  into  the  pew.  The  bridegroom  left 
his  bride,  approached,  put  out  his  hand,  and  strove  to 
take  my  pearls  from  about  my  throat.  I  would  not 
give  them  up.  I  struggled,  I  tried  to  cry  out,  to  say 
that  they  were  mine,  should  remain  mine,  always. 
To  escape  the  gleaming  eyes  that  stared  at  me  through 
the  mask,  I  looked  back  at  the  bride.  Ah!  her  veil 
had  turned  into  a  shroud.  She  drew  it  slowly,  so 
slowly,  aside,  laying,  at  the  same  time,  an  awful 
bony  hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  her  bridegroom. 
With  a  moan  of  horror,  I  awoke,  for  the  bride — was 
Death! 

I  sat  up  in  bed  and  looked  fearfully  about  me, 
dreading  lest  I  might  find  myself  still  in  the  chapel. 
The  great  room  was  full  of  dusky  shadows;  they 
lurked  in  the  corners,  folded  themselves  about  the 
grim  mahogany  furniture,  wrapped  all  the  familiar 
objects  around  me  in  a  mysterious  gloom.  The  tall 
cheval-glass  only  had  caught  the  first  faint  light  of  the 
coming  day,  and  held  it  reflected  in  its  depths. 

Suddenly  I  had  the  disagreeable  feeling  that  I  was 
not  alone;  that  someone  was  in  hiding  among  the 

242 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

shadows.  I  held  myself  very  still,  and  listened.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  that  other  who  occupied  the  room 
with  me  held  his  breath,  too — and  listened.  The 
strain  upon  my  nerves  became  too  great.  I  spoke : 

"Who  is  there?" 

No  answer.  But  did  I  hear  a  rustle,  as  though  that 
someone  were  crouching  down  into  a  deeper  quiet  ? 

In  desperate  haste  I  struck  a  match,  and  lighted  the 
candle  on  the  table  beside  my  bed.  Then,  at  risk  of 
setting  fire  to  the  rose-strewn  hangings,  held  it  above 
my  head  and  peered  about  me.  Did  I  imagine  it,  or 
was  there  someone  hiding  behind  the  cheval-glass?  It 
stood  well  out  in  the  room,  between  the  fireplace  and 
the  eastern  window.  I  slipped  from  my  bed,  went 
quickly  to  it,  paused,  saw  my  own  white  reflection 
dimly  in  the  large  mirror,  looked  behind.  There  was 
no  one  there. 

As  I  turned  I  heard  an  odd  sound  in  my  dressing- 
room;  yet  I  dared  not  leave  the  bedroom  to  investi- 
gate further  until  I  was  sure  that  it  was  empty.  What 
if  someone  were  left  behind?  I  lifted  the  valance  of 
the  old  four-post  bedstead,  looked  under  the  tables, 
into  the  ponderous  mahogany  wardrobe — not  a  soul. 
The  candle's  feeble  glimmer  was  reflected  in  mirrors 
and  highly  polished  furniture,  and  as  I  moved  cau- 
tiously hither  and  thither,  it  seemed  to  make  the 
shadows  deeper,  instead  of  driving  them  away. 

At  last  on  into  the  dressing-room;  but  it,  too,  proved 
to  be  empty.  Sighing  with  relief,  I  went  back  to  bed, 
thankful  that  I  had  not  cried  out,  in  my  terror,  to 
Etienne.  I  was  ashamed  that  a  nightmare  should 
have  so  fired  my  imagination,  for  I  decided  that  I  had 
imagined  all  the  sounds.  To  sleep  again,  however, 
proved  impossible,  since  I  must  needs  fall  to  thinking 
of  Etienne  and  the  woman  he  loved.  And  when 
these  bitter  musings  had  been  overcome,  I  began  to 
wonder  about  the  curious  echo,  called  the  Portent  It 

243 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

was  heard  so  seldom;  rarely  could  the  atmosphere  be 
in  the  right  condition  to  bring  it.  Then  I  speculated 
upon  the  equally  curious  desire  of  every  Braithe  to 
ignore  both  sound  and  superstition;  a  wish  so  gener- 
ally known  that  I  had  been  asked  no  questions  about 
Lilian's  fainting  fit  when  I  returned  to  my  guests. 
Everyone  had,  apparently,  forgotten  the  strange  end- 
ing of  the  tableau;  had  forgotten  everything,  save 
the  need  of  great  effort  on  their  part  to  act  as  though 
nothing  had  happened. 

I  had,  in  my  thoughts,  travelled  far  from  my  past 
terrors,  when  a  low  knock  at  my  door  brought  them 
rushing  back.  The  room  was  light,  the  day  had 
come;  yet  my  heart  thumped  uncomfortably  as,  slip- 
ping on  my  dressing-gown,  I  answered  the  summons. 
To  my  surprise,  I  found  Mr.  Brace,  looking  very 
grave,  standing  at  the  threshold.  He  made  no  idle 
apology,  but  going  straight  to  the  point,  asked  if  I 
would  go  to  the  brick-yards  with  him  to  see  a  poor 
woman  who  was  dying  and  wished  for  me. 

I  dressed  hastily,  then  sought  my  purse.  Thanks 
to  Etienne's  liberality,  I  might  now  really  assist  the 
poor.  With  a  feeling  of  warm  gratitude  toward  the 
giver,  I  opened  my  handsome  pocket-book,  thinking 
to  lighten  it  before  putting  it  in  my  pocket.  It  was 
generally  overfull.  To  my  surprise  it  was  empty. 
Instantly  I  thought  of  the  odd  sounds  I  had  heard  but 
an  hour  before,  then  laughed  at  my  foolish  fears. 
Lilian  had  asked  for  money  but  the  day  previous,  and 
must  have  helped  herself  more  greedily  than  usual, 
that  was  all.  Fortunately  I  had  foreseen  just  such 
an  emergency  and  had,  always,  a  small  private 
hoard. 

As  I  tucked  it  into  my  purse,  Hervey  came  to  my 
door  with  a  tray,  on  which  was  a  glass  of  milk  and  a 
roll.  He  put  it  down  on  the  table  with  an  air  of  sod- 
den resignation. 

244 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"The  table  is  spread 
With  a  hunk  of  bread, 
And  milk  from  the  beastly  cow," 

he  said,  sadly,  misquoting  as  usual,  "but  I  can't  do 
better  for  you,  Mrs.  Rappelle.  The  cook  is  a  swear- 
ing slug-in-bed  this  morning — he  refuses  to  rise." 

"You  look  tired  out,  Hervey,"  I  said,  surveying  the 
little  man  with  some  anxiety,  for  his  usually  rosy  face 
was  pale,  and  his  eyes  were  red.  "Didn't  you  get  any 
sleep?" 

He  shook  his  head  gently,  his  bloodshot  eyes  fixed 
upon  me  with  an  expression  of  dog-like  affection,  the 
accustomed  deprecatory  smile  about  his  pale  lips. 

"My  brain  had  murdered  sleep,"  he  said,  quietly, 
and  I  thought  he  was  alluding  to  the  wearisome  old 
legend;  that  he,  too,  imagined  that  one  of  the  Braithes 
was  summoned,  when  he  continued,  "I  heard  the  trail- 
ing garments  of  night  thieves  scraping  along  the  walls 
— or  thought  I  did,  Mrs.  Kappelle." 

"Did  you  get  up  to  look  for  them,  Hervey?"  I 
asked,  in  some  excitement. 

"Yes,  madam.  Mr.  Fayne  was  of  the  same  opin- 
ion— we  met  by  chance,  the  ugliest  way." 

"You  saw  no  one  ?"  I  questioned,  eagerly. 

"No  one,  Mrs.  Rappelle." 

I  was  very  much  relieved  to  be  thus  assured  that 
my  fears  had  been  imaginary.  "Try  to  sleep  now, 
Hervey,"  I  urged.  "You  have  time  for  a  nap  before 
breakfast." 

"Time  is  made  for  slaving,  Mrs.  Rappelle,"  he  an- 
swered, gravely.  "Many  a  grain  of  mustard  seed 
would  fall  on  the  sideboard,  were  I  to  fold  my  tal- 
ents in  the  napkins."  And  he  went  quietly  away. 

I  found  Mr.  Brace  waiting  for  me  at  the  boat- 
house,  and  we  glided  out  upon  a  river  that  seemed 
but  a  shield  of  gold,  so  dazzlingly  did  it  reflect  the 
sun's  rays.  No  air  was  stirring,  and  I  thought  with 

245 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

intense  pity  of  the  suffering  creature,  who  was  strug- 
gling for  breath  in  the  hot  tenement,  under  the  river 
bank  near  the  brick-yard. 

It  was  too  quiet,  unnaturally  so;  and  when,  at  one 
o'clock,  Mr.  Brace  and  I  re-entered  our  boat  and 
started  for  home,  the  character  of  the  day  had  changed. 
A  wild  breeze  was  tearing  up  the  river  from  the 
southwest,  whipping  its  heretofore  smooth  surface  into 
white-capped  waves,  and  driving  masses  of  black, 
vaporous  clouds  across  the  heavens.  Behind  the 
western  hills  there  curved  upward  a  sheet  of  steely 
gray,  whose  sinister  surface  was  rent,  now  and  again, 
by  jagged  spears  of  lightning.  Mr.  Brace  bent  to  his 
oars  with  a  will  and,  since  wind  and  tide  were  with  us, 
we  were  swept  along  in  a  way  that  was  exhilarating. 

"We  shan't  be  able  to  make  the  boat-house,  Mrs. 
Rappelle,"  he  shouted,  raising  his  voice  to  dominate 
the  noise  of  the  approaching  tempest.  "Shall  I  land 
below  the  chapel?  We  can  find  shelter  there." 

I  nodded.  I  liked  the  wild  warring  of  wind  and 
water,  the  beauty  of  the  great  tossing  river,  and  its 
enemy — the  on-coming  storm  demon.  Mr.  Brace 
could  think  only  of  the  real  peril  of  the  moment,  and 
heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  relief  when  he  at  last  drove  the 
boat  ashore,  and,  scrambling  out,  dragged  it  far  up 
beneath  the  bank  whose  summit,  high  above  us,  was 
crowned  by  Braithe  Chapel,  with  its  surrounding 
graves.  Refusing  to  allow  me  time  to  survey  the 
magnificence  of  the  scene,  he  seized  my  hand  and 
pulled  me  up  the  bluff  at  a  tremendous  pace. 

Laughing,  protesting,  begging  for  just  one  moment 
to  look  over  my  shoulder  at  the  river,  already  far  be- 
low us,  I  was  forced  to  scramble  on  beside  the  usually 
mild-mannered  little  man,  of  whose  latent  energy  I 
had  been  only  half  aware,  and  not  until  we  had  almost 
reached  the  chapel  did  the  storm  break.  Then, 
thanks  to  the  huge  trees,  beneath  whose  protecting 

246 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

branches  rested  the  dead  and  gone  Braithes,  hardly  a 
drop  of  rain  touched  us,  and,  by  running,  we  were  in 
the  little  vestry — entering  by  the  side  door,  of  which 
Mr.  Brace  kept  the  key — before  the  downpour  beat 
upon  the  chapel  roof. 

The  heat  in  the  little  church  was  intense,  as  the 
rapidly  cooling  temperature  outside  had  not,  as  yet, 
had  time  to  penetrate  its  thick  walls.  1  was  surprised 
to  see  Mr.  Brace  resume  his  coat — which  he  had  dis- 
carded while  rowing — directly  upon  entering;  but  he 
announced  his  intention  of  going  to  the  house  at  once, 
to  give  news  of  my  whereabouts.  It  was  in  vain  that 
I  remonstrated — the  storm  was  very  fearful. 

"Mr.  Rappelle  and  the  child  will  be  painfully 
anxious,"  said  the  headstrong  little  man,  turning  up 
the  collar  of  his  coat  as  he  spoke.  "I  could  not  recon- 
cile it  with  my  conscience,  Mrs.  Rappelle,  to  leave 
them  in  uncertainty."  And  bidding  me  lock  the 
door  after  him,  he  went  out  into  the  tempest. 

The  tiny  vestry  was  close  to  suffocation,  and,  hop- 
ing to  find  more  air,  I  left  it,  and  went  to  my  accus- 
tomed seat  in  the  great  square  family  pew.  Never 
at  any  time  a  very  cheerful  little  church — although 
Etienne  had  done  his  best,  when  restoring  it,  to  give 
an  air  of  lightness  to  the  sombre  interior — the  intense 
blackness  of  the  storm  added  to  its  gloom.  Memories 
of  the  scene  enacted  so  short  a  time  before,  at  the  bed- 
side of  the  dying  woman,  filled  my  mind  with  sad 
thoughts.  I  shuddered  at  each  crash  of  thunder  and 
looked,  with  awe-struck  eyes,  at  the  pictured  saints  of 
the  stained-glass  windows,  standing  out  with  almost 
life-like  vividness  under  the  fierce  blue  glare  of  the 
lightning.  They  reminded  me  of  the  terrors  of  the 
previous  night,  and  of  my  awful  dream.  Falling  upon 
my  knees,  I  lost  myself  in  prayer  until  a  heavy  sigh, 
echoing  through  the  vaulted  building,  roused  me  in 
affright  from  my  devotions. 

247 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

Lifting  my  head  I  stared  about  me,  at  the  same  time 
telling  myself  that  I  must  have  mistaken  some  outside 
sound — the  wailing  of  the  wind  through  the  branches 
of  the  old  sycamores  and  walnut  trees,  or  the  cry  of 
some  distant  steam-whistle  upon  the  river — for  the 
sigh  of  a  human  being.  I  had  fastened  the  door  of 
the  vestry  after  Mr.  Brace's  exit,  and  the  heavy  front 
door  of  the  chapel  was  always  kept  securely  locked; 
the  key  hidden  carefully  in  a  certain  place  beneath  the 
stone  steps,  known  only  to  Lilian,  Etienne,  Mr.  Brace, 
and  me — a  secret  well  guarded  by  us  all,  because  of 
the  tramps  and  river-thieves  who  would  gladly  have 
used  the  chapel  for  sleeping  quarters. 

I  felt  certain  that  no  one  could  have  entered,  yet  in 
spite  of  this  I  looked  about  me  nervously.  Because 
of  the  heavy  gloom  I  could  scarcely  see  more  than  the 
outlines  of  the  pew,  but  the  church  seemed  empty; 
and  I  had  almost  recovered  my  tranquillity,  when  a 
vivid  flash  of  lightning  illuminated  every  object  within 
the  walls.  Then  I  saw,  with  a  sensation  of  horror  that 
was  an  agony,  a  masked  man  standing  near  the  en- 
trance door.  He  wore  a  slouched  hat  pulled  well 
forward,  but  not  far  enough  to  hide  his  eyes,  that 
gleamed  through  the  slits  of  his  mask  like  the  eyes  of 
the  man  in  my  dream.  I  dared  neither  cry  out,  nor 
move.  My  only  hope  was  that  he  might  not  have 
seen  me,  yet  I  felt  a  sickening  conviction  that  those 
awful  eyes  were  fixed  upon  my  pale  face.  It  was  all 
over  in  an  instant,  the  glare  being  followed  by  intense 
darkness — more  intense  because  of  that  moment  of 
light. 

I  rose  cautiously.  I  must  get  to  the  vestry  while 
the  darkness  held.  I  clung  to  the  hope  that  I  was 
still  unseen.  I  had  no  superstitious  fears  to  combat, 
I  knew  that  the  man  was  no  spectre,  yet  because  of 
my  dream  his  masked  face  well-nigh  paralyzed  me 
with  terror,  adding  to  the  unreality  of  my  surround- 

248 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

ings.  Before  I  could  reach  the  door  of  the  pew — 
moving  so  slowly  on  leaden  feet  of  fear — there  came 
another  flash  of  lightning,  accompanied  hy  a  deafen- 
ing peal  of  thunder.  I  crouched  down  instantly  upon 
the  floor.  I  held  my  breath — was  someone  stealthily 
approaching,  up  the  aisle? 

The  thunder  rumbled  away  in  the  distance,  follow- 
ing, as  if  in  sport,  the  mountains  which  almost  encircle 
that  part  of  the  river.  Even  in  my  dreadful  anxiety 
my  mind  reverted  to  the  old  legend,  told  all  children 
who  live  among  the  highlands  of  our  river,  of  Hen- 
drick  Hudson  playing  at  nine-pins  with  his  crew  of  the 
Half-moon,  in  some  hidden  hollow  of  the  Kaatskill 
Mountains. 

A  deep  sigh,  almost  a  groan,  again  echoed  through 
the  church.  My  heart  seemed  to  stand  still.  Then, 
in  desperation,  I  unfastened  the  little  door  of  the  pew 
and  ran  trembling,  stumbling  through  the  gloom,  past 
the  chancel  steps  to  the  vaulted  entrance  of  the  vestry. 
As  I  hastened  to  close  and  bolt  the  door,  the  chapel 
was  again  filled  with  blue  light;  the  figures  in  the 
windows  seemed  to  take  life  and  move.  But  stare  as 
I  might  I  saw  them  alone — the  masked  man  was 
gone. 

There  came  a  loud  knocking  from  without. 

"Dolly!"  cried  an  anxious  voice,  Herbert's,  "Dolly, 
open  the  door!  Let  me  in!" 

I  could  not  obey  him  fast  enough.  And  when  he 
entered,  wet  through  and  much  concerned  about  me, 
I  forgot  his  past  misconduct  and  met  him  with  both 
hands  outstretched. 

"O  Bertie,"  I  cried,  breathlessly,  "there's  a  masked 
man  in  the  church!  What  shall  we  do?" 

Herbert  drew  me  to  him,  stooping  to  look  into  my 
face.  "A  man  in  a  mask,  Dolly?  How  can  that  be? 
There,  don't  be  frightened;  it's  all  right  now." 

"No,  no,  Herbert,"  I  protested,  "it's  not  all  right 
249 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

while  he's  there.  I  tell  you  I  saw  him  plainly.  Tall, 
and -" 

"I'll  go  look  for  him,"  he  said,  interrupting  me. 
"You  wait  here,  dear,  and  I'll  search  every  corner." 

The  thunder  was  still  booming  like  heavy  cannon, 
too  near  us  for  comfort,  and  the  accompanying  flashes 
of  lightning  made  me  wince. 

"What  was  that?"  I  cried,  as  there  came  a  heavier 
crash  than  before.  "Did  I  hear  the  big  door  closing, 
Herbert?" 

"No,  no,  Dolly,"  he  said,  soothingly;  but  it  seemed 
to  my  overstrained  nerves  that  a  sneer  lurked  beneath 
the  softness  of  his  tones.  "Your  imagination  runs 
away  with  you,  dear." 

His  words,  the  intonation  of  his  voice,  the  tender 
pressure  of  his  fingers  closed  fast  over  mine,  brought 
me  to  my  senses.  I  was  ashamed  that  my  terror  had 
made  me  forget  everything  save  the  desire  for  protec- 
tion. I  drew  my  hands  from  his,  and  going  to  the 
door  leading  into  the  body  of  the  church,  unlocked 
and  opened  it. 

"I  will  help  you  look,"  I  said. 

But  Herbert  drew  me  back,  almost  roughly,  and 
pushed  me  into  a  chair.  "No,"  he  said,  decidedly, 
"you  must  stay  here.  I  prefer  to  go  alone."  And 
he  closed  the  door  behind  him  as  he  went. 

I  was  not  alone  long,  for  before  he  had  returned 
Hervey  came  in,  laden  down  with  wraps. 

"Dear  lady!"  he  cried,  hovering  about  me.  "Ab- 
sence make  the  heart  to  ponder,  and  I've  thought  with 
anxiety  of  you  all  the  long,  long,  dreary  day." 

He  knelt  down  to  put  on  my  overshoes,  and  as  he 
did  so  Herbert  came  back.  Hervey  started,  and 
looked  up  quickly.  "Mr.  Fayne!"  he  exclaimed,  in 
surprise.  "You  sought  refuge  by  the  front  way?" 

"No,  Merle."  Then  to  me:  "It's  all  right,  Dolly," 
and  he  laid  his  finger  on  his  lips,  in  token  that  Hervey 

250 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

— again  bending  over  my  feet — was  not  to  know  of 
my  fear. 

In  this  I  acquiesced,  since  had  I  really  been  the 
victim  of  my  too  vivid  imagination — as  I  began  to 
believe  had  been  the  case — of  what  use  to  worry 
others? 

"Mr.  Brace  did  not  mention  having  met  you,  sir," 
said  Hervey,  jealous  of  Herbert  having  been  the  first 
to  reach  me  I  thought. 

"No,"  said  Herbert,  good-humoredly,  "but  I  got 
anxious  about  Mrs.  Rappelle,  Merle,  seeing  your  mas- 
ter wasn't  at  home,  so  I  was  hurrying  down  to  have  a 
look  for  her  when  I  met  the  little  parson  heading  for 
the  house  on  the  dead  run.  He  was  going  at  such  a 
pace — head  down,  butting  at  the  rain  like  a  mad  bull 
— that  he  never  saw  me!" 

Hervey  gave  vent  to  a  low  "Humph!" 

"Where  is  Mr.  Rappelle?"  I  asked. 

"Gone  with  Mr.  Fadd  to  Hilltown,"  said  Herbert, 
quickly.  And  I  saw  him  touch  Hervey's  foot — as  if 
by  accident — with  his  own. 

"Hervey,"  I  said,  very  gently,  "you  may  tell  me  at 
once  what  has  happened." 

"Dolly!"  cried  Herbert,  as  if  in  protest. 

Hervey  rose  slowly  to  his  feet  and  stood  looking 
down  at  me,  intense  admiration  and  pride  in  his  eyes. 
"Fools  would  step  in  to  teach  angels  where  to  tread," 
he  said,  softly,  as  if  to  himself,  then,  "All  are  well, 
dear  lady,  so  wipe,  oh,  wipe,  that  fear  away!" 

"Thank  God!"  I  murmured,  having  ever  in  mind 
the  fragile  health  of  little  Jane.  "What  is  it  then, 
Hervey,  please  ?  I  don't  mind  anything  else." 

"No,  indeed,  Mrs.  Rappelle,"  said  Hervey,  slowly 
shaking  his  head  from  side  to  side,  "you  are  not  one 
of  those  who  lay  up  treasures  for  themselves  where 
moth  and  ruffians  congregate  to  help  thieves  break  in 
and  steal!" 

251 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

"What  is  stolen?"  I  asked,  rising  in  my  excitement. 
"Tell  me  quickly,  please." 

"Every  jewel  in  the  house,  Mrs.  Rappelle,"  was  the 
solemn  answer. 

"Then  there  was  someone  in  my  room  this  morn- 
ing!" I  exclaimed,  "and  you  were  right  in  thinking 
that  you  heard  burglars.  Oh,  why  didn't  I  call 
Etienne!" 

"He  might  have  been  shot,"  said  Herbert,  sardonic- 
ally, "and  you  would  never  have  forgiven  yourself — 
ah,  pardon  me,  Dolly!"  as  I  colored  hotly  with  indig- 
nation, "I  didn't  think  what  I  was  saying."  Then, 
lowering  his  voice  so  that  Hervey,  who  had  gone  to 
look  at  the  weather,  might  not  hear,  "I  am  half 
mad,  I  think."  I  moved  quickly  toward  the  door. 
"Dolly!"  he  cried,  under  his  breathj  "Dolly!  one  mo- 
ment, just  one — I  must  speak  to  you  alone. 

His  eyes  glowed  into  mine,  he  laid  his  hand  on  my 
arm  to  detain  me.  I  shook  it  off  with  tired  impa- 
tience. I  wanted  to  get  rid  of  him,  to  be  at  home, 
where  I  must  be  needed.  I  was  indignant  that  he 
should  wish  to  detain  me  with  his  strange  folly  at  such 
a  time.  I  knew  that  Etienne  would  feel  greatly  dis- 
tressed that  such  an  occurrence  had  taken  place  be- 
neath his  roof.  He  had  probably  gone  to  Hilltown 
to  notify  the  police.  Again  I  had  missed  seeing  Dr. 
Strong's  interesting  friend,  who  must  have  been  at 
Braithe  when  the  robbery  was  discovered.  Upon 
questioning  Hervey  I  found  that  such  had  been  the 
case. 

"The  early  bird  catches  the  worst,  Mrs.  Eappelle," 
said  Hervey,  gravely,  "like  you  and  this  professor  this 
self -same  morning.  The  danger  is  past  now,  I  think," 
waving  his  hand  toward  the  sky,  "but  the  rain  has 
come  to  stay." 

Understanding  this  to  mean  that  I  might  start  for 
home,  I  hurried  there  as  quickly  as  possible;  the  swift- 

252 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

ness  of  my  pace  preventing  Herbert  from  forcing 
a  tete-a-tete.  I  found  Mrs.  Love  flitting  restlessly 
about  the  hall,  evidently  waiting  for  me.  She  ran  up 
and  helped  me  off  with  my  cloak. 

"I  am  so  very,  very  sorry/'  I  said,  looking  at 
her  anxiously,  "have  you  lost  your  trinkets,  Mrs. 
Love?" 

,  She  shook  her  mop  of  curls  violently.     "Nothing 
worth  taking,  my  dear,  so  don't  fret  about  me." 

"Ah,  how  glad  I  am!"  I  exclaimed.  "But  the  oth- 
ers? I  fear  they  are  taking  their  loss  very  hard." 

"You  bet!"  was  the  characteristic  answer.  "Rachel 
mourning  for  her  children  wasn't  in  the  running  for 
a  minute.  Every  precious  one  of  them  doing  the 
Niobe  act  for  all  they're  worth — and  they're  not  worth 
much,  to  tell  the  awful  truth,  when  their  finery's  torn 
off  them!"  she  giggled,  wickedly.  "And  Sandbar's 
the  worst  of  the  lot!" 

"Mrs.  Allenby's  gems  ?"  I  gasped,  suddenly  remem- 
bering her  almost  priceless  collection. 

"All  gone,"  said  Mrs.  Love;  "she'd  rather  have  lost 
her  daughters.  There,  don't  look  so  awfully  care- 
worn! It's  not  your  fault.  You  are  certainly  the 
sweetest,  most  sympathetic  thing  alive!" 

"Oh,  hush!"  I  cried,  catching  her  hand  in  mine. 
"Please  don't  pay  me  compliments  just  now,  Mrs. 
Love." 

She  patted  my  cheek,  and  surveyed  me  with  great 
complacency ;  then  stooped  and  kissed  me,  at  the  same 
time  patting  Hervey's  topknot  gently — he  was  on  his 
knees  taking  off  my  overshoes,  but  had  paused  in  his 
task  to  listen  to  her. 

"You  see,"  she  said,  "my  beautiful  girl — your 
cheeks  are  just  like  wet  rose  leaves — I'm  not  down  on 
my  luck  because  the  one  jewel  I  care  about  is  your 
opal.  And  that,  thanks  to  your  sister's  carelessness, 
is  lost  out  of  harm's  way." 

253 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"Like  a  peach  in  a  pig's  snout/'  grumbled  Hervey, 
but  so  low  that  I  could  pretend  not  to  have  heard. 

"But  come,  Mrs.  Theo,"  continued  Mrs.  Love, 
"you'd  better  run  upstairs  before  you're  caught. 
Come,"  grasping  my  hand  and  pulling  me  to  my  feet, 
"get  to  your  dressing-room,  and  get  your  second  wind 
before  you  face  the  foe." 

"Yes,  dear  lady,"  urged  Hervey,  "remember  there's 
no  one,  as  Mrs.  Love  says,  so  much  to  be  feared  as  the 
fools  in  your  own  household." 

But  I  disregarded  Mrs.  Love's  well-meant  counsel, 
preferring  instead  to  go  to  the  drawing-room,  from 
whence  came  the  confused  murmur  of  many  voices. 
Herbert  was  in  the  library  at  the  telephone,  in  com- 
munication with  Etienne,  having  gone  there  directly 
upon  our  return  to  the  house.  When  I  entered  Mr. 
Bandhar  was  standing  before  the  fireplace  over  which 
hung  my  portrait,  dominating  the  others  through  su- 
perior power  of  lungs — or  inferior  habits  of  civility. 

"I  know  what  I'm  talking  about,  I  tell  you,"  he 
bawled  with  ponderous  insistency,  "somebody  inside 
let  'em  in.  I  don't  approve  of  encouragin'  the  lower 
orders  to  such  an  extent  as  is  done  here.  That  feller 
Merle  is  too  damn  free  in  his  manners,  altogether."  , 

"Whom  do  you  suspect,  Mr.  Bandhar?"  I  asked, 
coming  forward. 

He  wagged  his  head  at  me  solemnly,  too  much  up- 
set by  the  loss  of  his  ornaments  to  realize  how  exceed- 
ingly rude  he  had  been.  "I  name  no  names  in  pub- 
lic," he  replied,  with  an  air  that  said  he  could,  an'  he 
would,  put  his  finger  on  the  guilty  party,  "but  when 
the  police  arrive  I'll  tell  them.  Mrs.  Rappelle" — there 
came  into  his  voice  the  sound  of  repressed  tears — "I've 
lost  all  my  scarf-pins,  yes,  all,  every  one!  I  remem- 
ber you  remarked  once  that  the  cat's-eye  set  in  dia- 
monds was  a  beauty.  The  emerald  four-leafed  clover 
with  large,  very  large,  diamond  dew-drop,  you  said 

254 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

became  me.     "Well,  well,  I  fear  you'll  never  see  me 
in  'em  again!" 

I  asked  for  Mrs.  Allenby  and  was  told  that  she  was 
upstairs. 

"Mrs.  Allenby,"  said  Major  O'Leary,  as  grave  as  a 
deacon  for  the  first  time  since  his  arrival  at  Braithe, 
"Mrs.  Allenby" — he  lowered  his  voice  to  an  impres- 
sive whisper — "is  suffering  from  a  severe  nervous 
headache.  The  shock  has  been  too  much  for  her. 
Pray  believe,  Mrs.  Rappelle,  that  she  realizes,  as  do 
we  all,  how  very,  ah — unpleasant,  this  affair  must  be 
for  our  admirable  host  and  charming  hostess,"  bow- 
ing low.  "And  we  also  realize  how  deeply  you,  too, 
must  be  suffering  from  your  own  part  of  the  loss. 
Those  magnificent  diamonds !  That  marvellous  string 
of  pearls!" 

Saying  that  I  would  go  upstairs  to  see  Mrs.  Allenby, 
I  left  the  room,  and  ran  against  Herbert  in  the 
hall. 

"Rappelle  won't  be  home  for  luncheon,  Dolly,"  he 
said,  looking  worried.  "He  has  telegraphed  to  New 
York  for  detectives,  and  they're  to  be  here  by  dinner 
time.  Where  are  you  going?" 

"Upstairs,"  I  said,  coldly,  and  then,  thinking  aloud, 
added,  "I  wish  Mr.  Bandhar  didn't  suspect  the  ser- 
vants!" 

"Bandhar's  a  fool,"  said  Herbert,  with  irritated  dis- 
gust. "But  it's  going  to  be  a  beastly  business  all 
through.  I'm  sorry  about  your  baubles,  Dolly." 

"Oh,  never  mind  about  them,"  I  said,  impatiently. 

"You  think  that  Rappelle  is  sure  to  give  you  more?" 
he  sneered,  then,  seeing  my  face  clouding  with  disap- 
proval, he  changed  his  tone.  "Forgive  me,"  he  said, 
humbly,  "I'm  ashamed  of  myself,  Dolly.  Don't 
worry  about  the  servants.  I'll  make  it  all  right  for 
them  by  suggesting  that  every  trunk  in  the  house  be 
searched.  The  police  shall  begin  on  mine." 

255 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

I  did  not  thank  him,  he  had  tried  me  too  sorely. 
I  went  on  upstairs. 

Mrs.  Allenby,  pleading  the  necessity  for  quiet, 
would  not  receive  me;  so  I  betook  myself  to  my  own 
room,  in  hopes  of  a  breathing  spell.  But  there  I 
found  Lilian  and  Josette,  engaged  in  a  dispute  so  vio- 
lent that  the  former  had  lost  her  dignity,  and  the  lat- 
ter the  respect  due  her  employer's  sister.  Josette, 
weeping,  poured  out  her  story  first;  since  Lilian,  at 
sight  of  me,  assumed  a  haughty  attitude,  and  took 
refuge  in  what  might  be  called  a  sneering  silence. 

The  cause  of  the  quarrel  was  the  theft  of  my  jewels. 
Josette  declared  that  she  had,  'acting  in  obedience  to 
Lilian's  orders,  left  them  in  Lilian's  care,  she  having 
said  that  she  would  herself  take  charge  of  them,  after 
the  tableaux.  Lilian,  on  her  part,  denied  this,  saying 
that  she  had,  at  the  end  of  the  evening,  placed  my 
jewel  box  in  Josette's  hands.  Here  Josette  inter- 
rupted to  insist  that  the  box  had  not  been  brought 
downstairs,  but  left  in  Lilian's  room. 

"I  fancy  my  sister  will  hardly  take  your  word  be- 
fore mine,"  sneered  Lilian,  "A  mere  servant,  a 
greedy  Swiss!" 

"Where  is  madame's  opal,  then?"  flashed  out 
Josette.  "That  was  left  in  the  careful  keeping  of 
mademoiselle,  if  I  mistake  not!  Has  it  ever  been  re- 
stored to  madame?" 

To  my  surprise  I  saw  that  she  hated  Lilian.  I 
never  would  have  suspected  that  my  gentle  little  maid 
could  show  such  fierceness.  As  for  Lilian,  she  grew 
pale  with  fury. 

"Don't  listen  to  her,  Theo!"  she  cried.  "A  lying, 
time-serving  little  cat!  How  dare  she  insinuate  such 
dreadful  things,  how  dare  you  stand  and  listen  to  her? 
I  never  touched  your  hateful  gems — I'll  bet  they're 
nothing  but  paste,  anyway — and  you  know  I  lost  the 

256 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

opal.  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear,  what  shall  I  do?  Insulted 
by  a  vile  maid-servant." 

It  was  some  time  before  I  could  stem  the  flood  of 
angry  words  that  poured  in  musical  tones  from  her 
white  lips.  When  I  had  imposed  silence,  I  chose  my 
role  with  care.  It  was  a  difficult  one  to  select,  since 
I  knew  that  Lilian  was  not  telling  the  truth.  No,  her 
sneers  when  she  thought  she  might  escape  detection 
and  her  following  angry  asseverations  of  innocence, 
mingled — as  always — with  denunciations  of  her  chosen 
victim,  told  me  but  too  plainly  that  she  was  the  one  to 
blame.  Lilian,  the  woman,  had  the  same  peculiarities 
as  Lilian,  the  child.  It  was  for  me  to  protect  her  from 
the  consequences  of  her  own  fault. 

"Try  to  compose  yourself,  Lilian,"  I  said.  "And 
you,  Josette,  will  remember  that  what  is  said  in  anger 
is  often  only  half  meant.  Miss  Lilian,  I  am  sure,  will 
be  sorry  later  if  she  hurts  your  feelings;  while  you,  I 
know,  will  bitterly  regret  any  disrespect  shown  on 
your  own  part." 

"Quite  true,  dear,  dear  madame,"  sobbed  the  poor 
girl.  . 

"As  for  you,  Lilian,"  I  said,  suavely,  "no  one  can 
expect  you  to  recollect  what  you  did,  or  said,  after 
your  nervous  attack  of  last  evening.  You  were  un- 
conscious for  some  time." 

"So  I  was,"  she  exclaimed,  grasping  with  eagerness, 
as  I  had  expected,  at  this  chance  of  escape  afforded 
her.  "So  I  was,  Theo!  As  you  say,  I  was  not  quite 
myself  after  that  terrible  fainting  fit.  Oh,  my  poor 
head,"  she  passed  her  hand  with  affected  weariness 
across  her  forehead,  "it  really  pains  me  yet!  Josette, 
I  must  have  forgotten  to  carry  Madame  Rappelle's 
diamonds  and  pearls  upstairs  with  me.  Yes,  I  dis- 
tinctly remember  now,  just  laying  them  down  on  a 
little  table  and  meaning  to  go  back  for  them — yes, 

257 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

that  was  what  I  did.  The  thieves  must  have  found 
them  there." 

Josette  sullenly  accepted  this  half  apology.  I  sug- 
gested a  thorough  search  for  the  opal  among  Lilian's 
effects,  saying  that  that  probably  was  safe  enough. 

"No,  madame,"  said  Josette,  "the  opal,  too,  is  gone. 
Mademoiselle's  maid  and  I  have  done  our  possible — 
not  once,  but  many  times.  I  would  not  tell  madame 
before;  I  had  not  the  heart." 

Lilian's  brows  drew  together  in  a  threatening  frown ; 
another  outburst  of  anger  was,  I  saw,  imminent. 
Josette  had  taken  a  liberty  in  searching  her  room. 

I  gave  Lilian  a  warning  glance.  "What  is  lost,  ia 
lost,"  I  said,  sadly,  for  I  loved  my  opal  almost  as  much 
as  though  it  had  been  a  live  thing — it  had  once  grown 
warm  against  my  mother's  breast.  "Come,  Lilian! 
They  must  be  waiting  for  us  in  the  dining-room." 

They  were  waiting.  As  unhappy  and  hungry  a 
set  of  people — Hervey  informed  me — as  had  ever  col- 
lected around  the  Braithe  dining-table.  I  knew  bet- 
ter, but  I  did  not  contradict  him.  "Yet  eat,  drink, 
and  be  merry,  dear  lady,"  he  whispered,  as  I  took  my 
place,  "since  none  of  'em  will  die!" 

They  were  happier  when,  late  in  the  afternoon, 
Etienne  returned  accompanied  by  a  brace  of  detectives 
— New  York  men — and  a  policeman  from  Hilltown, 
leaned  him  for  a  few  days  by  the  town  authorities. 

"Only  one  policeman!"  mourned  Mr.  Bandhar. 
"Only  two  detectives!  Well,  I  shall  sit  up  all  night." 

"What  for,  you  goose?"  asked  Mrs.  Love;  "I 
thought  your  gimcracks  were  all  stolen !" 

"Never  you  mind  why,"  he  said,  solemnly,  "only 
I  ain't  quite  a  fool." 

"Dear  me,  no!  Of  course  not,"  was  the  saucy 
answer. 


258 


xxm 

The  dinner  that  evening  proved  a  very  disagreeable 
function.  Mrs.  Allenby,  hearing  of  the  arrival  of 
the  detectives,  forgot  her  headache  and  came  down- 
stairs. She  had  always  been  so  exceptionally  agree- 
able, showing  so  much  tact  on  every  occasion  where 
social  skill  was  needed,  that  it  was  a  shock  to  find  that 
her  fine  manners  were  but  a  veneering.  This  was  now 
cracked  by  the  loss  of  her  jewels  into  unsightly  rifts, 
through  which  her  real  nature  was  plainly  to  be  seen. 
She  had  become  ill-tempered,  sneering,  even  rude. 
Mrs.  Ainslie,  Mr.  Carrington,  and  the  Loves  behaved 
as  usual.  Everybody  else  was  cross  and  unpleasant. 

I,  too,  felt  cross,  and  much  inclined  to  be  disagree- 
able. I  had  had  a  hard  day.  I  was  very  tired.  My 
beautiful  pearls,  my  sparkling  diamonds,  were  gone—- 
yet nobody  seemed  to  care ! 

As  I  looked  across  the  table  at  Etienne  my  indigna- 
tion deepened,  for  although  he  had  been  politely 
attentive  when  I  spoke  of  my  morning  at  the  brick- 
yard, and  had  shown  much  interest  when  I  told  of  the 
masked  man  in  the  chapel,  he  had  offered  no  sym- 
pathy. All  his  care  seemed  to  be  for  his  guests. 
Bent  upon  restoring  their  lost  valuables,  I,  and 
my  affairs,  were  apparently  of  little  account.  The 
anxiety  he  had  shown  the  night  before  had  vanished. 
The  daylight  had  evidently  dispelled  his  superstitious 
dread  of — and  belief  in — the  Death  Coach.  This  in- 
difference irritated  me.  I  said  to  myself  that  since 
he  was  not  interested  in  what  concerned  me,  I  might 

259 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

as  well  divert  myself  by  saying  and  doing  what  I 
chose — and  I  chose  to  be  unpleasant. 

I  thought  a  moment,  then  selecting  the  remark 
most  likely  to  prove  an  apple  of  discord  to  my  trying 
guests,  an  apple  of  Sodom  to  my  inattentive  husband, 
tossed  it  lightly  across  the  table  to  the  latter. 

"Etienne,"  I  said,  looking  dreamily  at  him,  "I'm 
so  sorry  not  to  have  met  Mr.  Fadd — I  do  long  to  meet 
somebody  really  interesting,  somebody  with  a  mind! 
When  was  he  to  leave  Dr.  Strong's?" 

"This  afternoon,  Theo." 

"Mrs.  Strong  said  he  was  occult,"  I  went  on,  as 
though  thinking  aloud.  "I  always  thought  I  would 
like  to  marry  an  occult  man — not  an  elderly  one, 
though.  A  young  occult." 

I  had  chosen  a  moment  when  conversation  lan- 
guished in  which  to  launch  this  missile.  It  certainly 
served  to  rouse  the  attention  of  the  company,  and  to 
divert  their  minds  from  their  own  woes.  Mrs.  Al- 
lenby  laughed  disagreeably. 

"You  may  have  a  chance  yet,  Mrs.  Bappelle,"  she 
said.  "Qui  sait?" 

Etienne's  eyes  flashed — my  existence  was  remem- 
bered. "Don't  sign  my  death-warrant,  Mrs.  Alien- 
by,"  he  said,  a  little  too  suavely.  "I  have  yet  some 
years  ahead  of  me,  I  trust,  in  which  to  learn  the  full 
meaning  of  the  word  'occult.'  " 

"Unless  some  other  chap  cuts  you  out,"  bawled  Mr. 
Bandhar.  "Death  ain't  the  only  way  of  breaking 
marriage  bonds  nowadays,"  and  he  winked  hideously 
at  me  behind  Mrs.  Allenby's  back. 

"No,"  said  Herbert,  his  eyes  cast  down,  "there  are 
other  ways — fortunately — in  which  the  imprisoned 
may  find  freedom." 

"Only  sometimes  they  find  they  ain't  quite  so  free 
as  they  thought  they  were  going  to  be!"  said  Mr. 
Bandhar,  revenging  himself  for  several  ill-tempered 

260 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

speeches  from  Mrs.  Allenby.  "There's  many  a 
slip  'twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip — what  do  you  say, 
O'Leary?" 

The  unfortunate  major,  turning  purple,  buried  his 
nose  in  his  glass  of  Burgundy,  and  pretended  not  to 
hear. 

As  for  me,  with  raised  brows  and  eyes  dilated  by 
surprise,  I  looked  in  apparent  bewilderment  from  one 
to  the  other,  as  if  unable  to  understand  what  the  sud- 
den turmoil  meant.  In  short,  I  behaved  just  as  badly 
as  I  possibly  could. 

"I'm  afraid  I  have  been  rude!"  I  said,  as  though 
in  sudden  alarm,  looking  at  Etienne  with  feigned 
anxiety.  "What  did  I  say,  Etienne?" 

"Nothing  of  any  importance,  my  dear,"  was  the 
smiling  reply — I  was  pleased  to  see  that  his  temper 
was  roused — "you  merely  regretted  your  choice  of  a 
husband!"  He  spoke  as  though  jesting,  and  every 
one,  save  myself,  was  deceived. 

"Choice!"  sneered  Herbert,  under  his  breath. 

"What  did  you  say,  Bertie?"  I  asked.  Since 
Etienne  was  so  blind  in  regard  to  Herbert's  true  char- 
acter, I  would  do  my  duty — and  open  his  eyes. 

"Do  you  really  care  to  hear?"  said  Herbert,  looking 
steadily  at  me. 

Mrs.  Love  and  Lilian  began  to  talk,  as  though  moved 
by  a  common  impulse  to  relegate  Mr.  Fayne  and  his 
remark  to  the  background.  Etienne,  I  saw,  was 
watching  me  with  an  interest  that  he  tried  to  conceal. 
I  answered  my  cousin  with  gay  nonsense. 

"No,  Alcibiades,"  I  said,  smiling,  my  finger  upon 
my  lips,  "you  had  best  keep  silent." 

"I  will  tell  you  later,  Dolly,"  he  said,  his  splendid 
eyes  glowing  with  sudden  excitement. 

"Meet  me  by  moonlight  alone!.  Is  that  your 
game  ?"  demanded  Mr.  Bandhar.  "Say,  when  you're 
sentimental  you're  sickenin',  do  you  know  it?"  In 

261 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

his  effort  to  drown  the  memory  of  his  lost  scarf-pins, 
Mr.  Bandhar  had  indulged  far  too  freely  in  his  favorite 
beverage,  champagne.  His  frankness  of  speech  grew 
more  appalling  every  moment.  "What  do  you  mean 
by  calling  him,"  he  continued,  pointing  a  rude  finger 
at  Herbert,  " Alcibiades,  Mrs.  Eappelle  ?  Sounds  like 
a  dog." 

"Give  a  dog  a  bad  name  and — hang  him!"  I  said, 
laughing.  Then,  holding  my  glass  high,  I  cried, 
"Here's  long  life  to  the  gallows!" 

Mr.  Bandhar's  heavy  laugh  boomed  through  the 
room.  Everyone  else  smiled  politely,  as  in  duty 
bound,  while  staring  at  me  in  evident  amazement.  At 
this  moment  carriage  wheels  were  heard  on  the  ave- 
nue. Everybody  started;  uneasy  glances  were  ex- 
changed ;  Lilian  grew  deathly  pale. 

"Only  the  arrival  of  our  evening's  amusement," 
said  Etienne,  hastily,  in  explanation.  "I  thought  we 
all  needed  something  new  to  distract  our  minds,  so  I 
engaged  a  palmist  to  come  up  from  town  to  read  our 
hands." 

"Who  is  he?"  cried  Mabel  Allenby,  delighted  by 
the  prospect. 

"A  gentleman,"  said  Etienne,  smiling,  "who  pre- 
fers not  to  have  his  name  known.  He  is  an  amateur, 
but,  I  am  told,  a  marvel  in  his  way;  even  the  best 
professionals  yield  the  palm — I  don't  intend  a  pun — 
to  him." 

"Do  we  know  him?" 

"Does  he  know  us?" 

Everybody  demanded  both  questions,  in  chorus. 

Etienne  shook  his  head. 

"He  asked  to  be  given  the  names  of  my  guests  be- 
fore he  consented  to  come,"  he  said,  gravely.  "I 
talked  with  him  through  the  telephone.  He  does  not 
care  to  read  the  palms  of  his  acquaintances;  they  bore 
him  by  insisting  that  he  is  prejudiced  when  he  tells 

262 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

them  pleasant — or  unpleasant — things.  He  prefers 
using  his  skill  for  strangers." 

"What  fun  it  will  be  to  meet  him  to-morrow,  when 
the  mischief's  done!"  said  Mrs.  Ainslie. 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Etienne,  "but  he  prefers 
not  to  meet  anyone  socially.  And  I  am  to  tell  you 
all,"  he  added,  glancing  quickly  at  me,  "that  your 
characters  will  be  quite  safe  in  his  hands,  since  he 
never  reveals  professional  secrets.  A  priest  in  the 
confessional  is  not  more  to  be  trusted  than  he." 

"Poor  man!"  I  exclaimed,  "he  has  chosen  a  dull 
metier.  Fancy  learning  the  secrets  of  a  host  of  stupid 
people,  without  having  the  amusement  of  gossiping 
about  them  afterward!  Let  us  hope  that  someone 
among  us  has  a  nature  sufficiently  baffling,  in  its  com- 
plexity, to  give  him  the  tang  of  excitement  that  he 
must  long  for." 

"Human  riddles  are  not  so  rare  as  you  seem  to 
think,  Theo,"  said  Etienne,  quietly.  "Doubtless  he 
will  find  plenty  here  to  read." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Mr.  Bandhar,  wagging  his  head  with 
great  seriousness,  "he'll  have  to  put  on  his  spectacles 
when  he  looks  at  my  hand,  I  guess.  Lots  of  girls  have 
made  an  awful  bungle  over  it  already." 

Our  guests  were  so  anxious  to  have  their  palms  read 
by  Trismegistus — as  Herbert  dubbed  the  mysterious 
stranger — and  so  eager,  on  their  return,  to  find  an 
attentive  listener  to  whom  to  confide  the  story  of  their 
horrible,  delightful,  or  disappointing  interview,  that 
it  was  late  when  I,  the  last  of  all  save  Etienne,  entered 
the  library. 

I  found  that  the  room  had  been  well  arranged  to 
impress  the  uninitiated.  The  portrait  of  my  great- 
great-great-grandfather  was  hidden  by  a  curtain  of 
dull  red  silk,  all  save  the  eyes;  they  watched  one's 
every  movement,  gleaming  through  openings  made  in 
the  silk.  In  front  of  the  fireplace,  on  a  high  teak- 

263 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

wood  stand,  was  a  bronze  Buddha,  seated  upon  his 
lotus-flower.  Before  the  god,  on  the  same  stand,  stood 
a  bowl  in  the  shape  of  the  lotus — dull  pink  petals  curv- 
ing upward  in  a  cup.  This  was  filled  with  fragrant 
oil,  in  which  floated  a  lighted  taper. 

The  evening  breeze,  stealing  in  through  the  turned 
swivels  of  the  blinds,  made  the  little  flame  flicker, 
casting  a  gigantic  shadow  of  the  Buddha  upon  the 
ceiling,  and  giving  a  lifelike  expression  to  the  watchful 
eyes  of  the  veiled  portrait. 

In  a  corner  of  the  large  room  two  screens  were 
arranged  to  form  an  alcove,  in  which,  seated  cross- 
legged  upon  a  pile  of  dull  green  cushions,  was  en- 
shrined the  palmist.  Before  him  stood  a  low  table  of 
teak-wood,  provided  with  a  small  cushion  of  black 
velvet  on  which  the  seeker  after  self-knowledge  was  to 
place  his,  or  her,  hand.  The  palmist  wore  a  loose  silk 
robe  the  colors  of  the  lotus — the  dull  pink  of  its  flow- 
ers, lined  with  the  soft  green  of  its  leaves.  This  was 
richly  embroidered  in  green  and  silver,  in  an  intricate 
pattern  formed  of  wreaths  and  bunches  of  the  lotus, 
and  fastened  about  the  waist  by  what  looked  like  an 
uprooted  lily;  its  shining  snake-like  stem  coiled 
around  him,  its  pink  flower  hanging,  as  a  tassel,  in 
front.  On  his  head  was  a  close-fitting  skullcap  of  the 
same  design;  an  inverted  lotus-flower. 

The  man  was  as  strange  looking  as  his  costume ;  but 
this  was  owing  to  his  expression,  and  not  to  any 
peculiarity  of  feature.  His  brown  hair  was  nearly 
concealed  by  the  cap;  his  eyebrows  were  finely 
marked,  level,  and  intensely  black.  From  beneath 
them  a  pair  of  marvellous  gray  eyes  looked  out  upon 
the  world  with  the  patient  acceptance  of  its  pettiness — 
yet,  withal,  the  kindly  interest — that  belongs  to  those 
who  have  acquired  wisdom  through  a  long  study  of  its 
peoples,  and  their  widely  divergent  ways.  His  face 
was  clean  shaven,  his  upper  lip  very  long;  the  nose 

264 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

straight,  but  a  trifle  broad;  the  mouth  of  the  flexible 
kind  that  changes  shape  constantly. 

He  sat  as  quiet  as  the  Buddha;  looking  as  though 
having  kept  that  position  through  many  centuries,  he 
was  prepared  to  remain  thus  placed  until  the  end  of 
time.  I  did  not  at  first  see  him  very  distinctly,  as  the 
only  light  in  the  room,  besides  the  feeble  taper,  was  a 
lamp  on  a  stand  near  the  teak-wood  table,  so  arranged, 
with  its  thick  shade  of  some  dull  stuff,  that  its  glow 
fell  upon  the  little  velvet  cushion,  and  left  the  occu- 
pant of  the  niche  in  shadow.  But  if  his  pose  belonged 
to  the  Orient,  his  wonderful  eyes  were  Anglo-Saxon, 
and  he  kept  them  fixed  upon  me  as  I  moved  slowly 
toward  him  up  the  long  room.  I  searched  rapidly 
through  my  memory  for  a  suitable  phrase  of  welcome, 
and  sweeping  a  deep  courtesy  when  still  at  a  respectful 
distance  from  his  shrine  said,  while  I  looked  down 
modestly: 

"O  most  illustrious  of  the  disciples  of  Budd,  O  Ele- 
phant among  Palmists,  accept  the  ardent  admira- 
tion of  the  humblest  among  thy  votaries!  Gladly 
would  I  perform  a  pradakshina  around  thee,  were  I 
sure  that  so  poor  a  thing  as  woman  could  be  allowed 
to  celebrate  that  graceful  ceremony  of  respect — or  if 
the  narrow  limits  of  thy  shrine  would  permit  of  its 
execution." 

He  answered  me  in  kind.  "Many  have  knelt  be- 
fore this  poor  table  of  teak-wood,"  he  said,  in  a  voice 
so  sweet  yet  vibrant  that  listening  became  a  pleasure, 
"but  to  kneel  is  not  fitting  for  one  who  is  at  once  the 
Diamond,  the  Ruby,  the  Pearl,  and  the  Opal  among 
women — the  most  beautiful  of  all  the  Daughters  of 
Earth !  Before  thee,  even  the  Heaven-born  must  veil 
their  faces!  Be  seated,  O  Rose  in  bloom." 

An  oddly  shaped  teak-wood  seat  was  in  front  of  the 
table,  and  I  placed  myself  as  desired.  I  wore  the 
gown  trimmed  with  peacocks'  feathers  of  jet.  This 

265 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

was  to  please  little  Josette,  who,  having  repaired  it 
with  marvellous  cleverness,  wished  me  to  show  appre- 
ciation of  her  efforts.  Naturally  I  disliked  the  frock 
with  its  memories.  High  up  on  the  left  side  of  the 
low  corsage,  so  that  they  rested  against  my  shoulder, 
my  maid  had  pinned  three  very  perfect  red  roses. 
These  had,  I  fancied,  provided  the  palmist  with  his 
last  flower  of  speech,  for  looking  up  after  I  had  seated 
myself  I  saw  that  his  eyes  were  upon  them. 

"Koses  please  thee,  O  King  among  Sages?"  I  in- 
quired, respectfully. 

"They  should,  O  large-eyed  Lady,"  was  the  pictu- 
resque response,  "since  we  learn  in  the  Pervigilium 
Veneris  that  they  are  made  from  the  blood  of  Venus, 
from  buds  and  breezes,  from  radiant  sunbeams — and 
the  kisses  of  love." 

"And  that  poor  thing,  Woman,  O  Giant  among 
Prophets,"  I  inquired,  humbly,  "dost  thou  deign  to 
cast  thy  piercing  eyes  tolerantly  upon  Woman  ?" 

The  piercing  eyes  sparkled  with  what  looked  like 
merriment,  but  the  repose  of  face  and  figure  remained 
unaltered  as  he  answered,  gravely: 

"Know  then,  O  Lady  of  the  radiant  smile,  that  it  is 
said  that  after  the  creation  of  man  no  solid  elements 
were  left;  so,  after  profound  meditation,  the  Great 
One  took  the  rotundity  of  the  Moon,  and  the  curves  of 
Creepers;  the  clinging  of  Tendrils,  and  the  trembling 
of  Grass;  the  slenderness  of  the  Reed,  and  the  bloom 
of  Flowers;  the  lightness  of  Leaves,  and  the  tapering 
of  the  Elephant's  trunk;  the  glances  of  the  Deer;  the 
clustering  of  rows  of  Bees ;  the  joyous  gayety  of  Sun- 
beams, and  the  weeping  of  Clouds;  the  fickleness  of 
the  Winds;  the  timidity  of  the  Hare;  the  vanity  of  the 
Peacock" — I  covered  the  jetted  feathers  on  my  breast 
with  both  hands,  and  smiled  deprecatingly  at  the 
palmist — "the  softness  of  the  Parrot's  bosom,"  he  went 
on,  speaking  impressively,  "with  the  hardness  of  Ada- 

266 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

mant;  the  sweetness  of  Honey,  with  the  cruelty  of  the 
Tiger;  the  warm  glow  of  Fire,  and  the  coldness  of 
Snow;  the  chattering  of  Jays,  and  the  cooing  of  the 
Kokila";  he  stopped  speaking  a  long  moment,  then 
continued,  "the  hypocrisy  of  the  Crane — the  fidel- 
ity," again  he  paused,  "of  the  Chakrawaka.  And, 
compounding  all  these  together,  he  made — Woman!" 

"Yet  she  pleased — Man!"  I  said,  thoughtfully. 

"Yes,  soft-voiced  winner  of  Hearts,"  was  the  an- 
swer, "and  displeased  him.  First  he  would  keep  her, 
then  would  none  of  her;  at  last  he  said,  'O  Lord,  what 
is  to  be  done  ?  I  cannot  li ve  either  with  her — or  with- 
out her!' ' 

"That  was  before  other  men  peopled  the  earth,"  I 
said,  slowly.  "When  others  came  he  clung  to  the 
one  he  had  chosen,  lest  they  wrest  from  him  the  De- 
light of  his  Eyes — even  were  she  not  the  Joy  of  his 
Heart." 

"Of  what  use  that  I  should  look  into  the  palm  of 
this  Student  of  Souls,"  exclaimed  the  palmist,  "when 
she  herself  is  a  Reader  of  Thoughts!" 

I  laid  my  right  hand,  palm  upward,  upon  the  velvet 
cushion  of  the  table  before  me.  "Will  the  Wisest 
among  Men  deign  to  counsel  the  Ignorant?"  I  said, 
pleadingly. 

"Thy  voice,"  said  the  palmist,  slowly,  "thy  smile, 
and  thy  beauty,  surpass  all  voices,  smiles,  and  beauty, 
that " 

"And  my  hand?"  I  interrupted. 

He  smiled,  and  his  smile  was  charming,  showing  a 
row  of  the  most  perfect  teeth ;  he  bowed  low,  swaying 
forward  in  odd  fashion. 

"Thy  right  hand  shows  what  thou  thyself  hast 
done,"  he  said,  suavely,  "but  I  would  read  what  thou 
wast  before  thy  Soul  and  Strength  rose  up  and  took 
control,  O  deep-thinking  Lady  with  the  star-like 
eyes !" 

267 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

Then  I  must  needs  lay  both  hands,  palms  down- 
ward, upon  the  cushion;  afterward  reversing  their 
position.  Silence  reigned  in  the  large  room — a 
silence  so  profound  that  distant  sounds  of  the  gay  talk 
in  the  drawing-room  penetrated,  and  drew  my 
thoughts  from  this  strange  man,  who  was  scrutinizing 
my  quiet  hands  as  if  they  had  been  books  of  worth.  I 
thought,  with  an  ache  in  my  heart,  of  Etienne,  of  his 
misplaced  affection — but  was  it  misplaced?  And 
why,  I  asked  myself,  did  I  not  rejoice,  that  the  man 
whom  I  had  feared  might  grow  to  love  me,  had  given 
his  heart  elsewhere?  This  I  could  not  understand;  I 
ought  to  have  been  glad,  yet — I  was  not.  And  I  be- 
gan to  doubt  if  regret  over  his  lost  happiness,  alone, 
could  so  discomfort  me.  Then  the  old  worrying 
thoughts  about  Herbert  swarmed  back.  I  felt  that 
Etienne  ought  to  know  of  Herbert's  ill-behavior.  Yet 
how  tell  him  ?  If  he  had  cared  for  me  it  would  have 
been  so  easy,  but  now,  when  he  was  all  the  time  com- 
paring me  with  that  other  woman — doubtless  to  my 
great  disadvantage 

"Those  who  come  to  me  doubting,"  said  the  palmist, 
breaking  in  upon  my  sad  musings,  "leave  me  believ- 
ing." 

He  had  finished  his  study  of  my  hands,  and  swayed 
back  into  his  former  position  of  profound  repose.  It 
occurred  to  me  that  the  poor  man  must  be  tired,  he 
had  read  so  many  palms. 

"Never  mind  about  telling  my  fortune,"  I  said,  im- 
pulsively. "You  are  surely  in  need  of  rest.  Let  me 
get  you  something  to  refresh  you  after  your  labors. 
Will  you  choose  what  you  would  prefer,  or  may  I 
have  the  pleasure  of  guessing  your  favorite  dishes, 
and  wine?  Not,"  glancing,  with  a  smile,  at  his  lotus- 
strewn  robe,  "that  I  have  it  in  my  power  to  offer  the 
viands  to  which  you  are  probably  accustomed." 

"And  what  may  they  be  ?"  he  inquired. 
268 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITH.E 

I  shook  my  head.  "Some  preparation  of  the  lotus?" 
I  suggested. 

He  smiled.  Then,  again  becoming  grave,  he  as- 
sured me  that  he  was  not  tired,  and  began  to  describe 
my  character  very  much  as  though  he  were  reading  it 
aloud  from  some  book.  Following  my  lead,  as  before, 
he  dropped  all  Oriental  imagery,  and  spoke  plainly  and 
decisively.  As  for  me  I  sat  astounded,  listening  to  a 
strangely  correct  description  of  myself;  of  my  mind, 
heart,  temperament,  beliefs,  virtues — faults.  Natu- 
rally, he  made  this  as  flattering  as  he  could,  yet  I  found 
it  not  a  little  trying  that  a  stranger  should  thus  hold 
the  secrets  of  my  very  soul  itself. 

"You  are  not  superstitious,"  he  continued,  "so  a 
glimpse  into  futurity  would  not  affect  you.  But  your 
nature  is  intensely  religious.  Although  you  believe 
it  cannot  be  done,  the  mere  thought  of  lifting  the  veil 
offends  you." 

"Yes,"  I  murmured,  "that  is  quite  true." 

He  sighed.  It  was  as  though  he  would  have  given 
me  a  hint  of  something  important  to  come — of  danger, 
perhaps — yet,  because  of  a  firm  conviction  that  the 
beliefs  of  others  should  be  respected,  kept  silence. 
"Superstition  is  to  be  dreaded,"  he  said,  slowly,  "yet 
many  so-called  heathenish  old  superstitions  have 
grown  out  of  truths.  I  may  say  to  you,  who  are  a 
thinker,  that  it  is  unwise  to  be  over  quick  in  scorning 
the  creeds  of  others.  Those  who  are  willing  to  sift 
the  sayings  of  the  primitive,  of  the  ignorant,  find  some 
gems  of  price." 

I  was  reminded  of  my  opal.  I  told  the  palmist  of 
its  loss,  and,  thinking  to  turn  the  conversation  into 
what  I  considered  its  proper  channel,  asked,  jestingly, 
if  I  should  find  it.  "I  was  born  in  October,"  I  added, 
"perhaps  you  believe  that  it  is  a  lucky  jewel — for 
me." 

"It  is  a  strange  gem,"  was  the  grave  answer.  "The 
269 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

Turks  believe  that  it  falls  from  heaven  in  the  light- 
ning's flash;  that  it  is  the  abode  of  af rites  and  genii, 
since  by  its  colors  it  suggests  the  glories  of  paradise. 
They  invest  it  with  talismanic  properties." 

The  flickering  light  of  the  taper,  in  its  fragrant  oil, 
made  the  great  shadow  of  the  Buddha  on  the  ceiling 
appear  to  nod.  The  lamp  on  the  stand  near  me  had 
begun  to  grow  dim.  I  turned  it  higher.  A  few 
sparks  flew  upward  from  its  wick,  showing  that  it  was 
nearly  burned  away.  The  stranger,  leaning  forward, 
turned  it  out.  We  were  almost  in  darkness;  the  faint 
gleam  of  the  taper  before  the  bronze  god  alone  re- 
mained to  illuminate  the  large  room. 

"Listen,"  commanded  the  palmist,  but  in  a  low 
voice,  as  though  fearing  to  be  overheard,  "your  opal 
will  be  restored  to  you — but  in  what  way  you  will 
have  to  choose.  It  is  your  natal  stone:  it  stands  for 
hope,  innocence,  purity!  Rather  than  give  up  his 
opal,  Nonius,  the  Roman  senator,  sought  banishment. 
It  was  the  size  of  a  hazel-nut,  and  even  in  those  days 
was  valued  at  what  we  call  one  million  dollars.  Yet 
Marc  Antony  would  have  paid  the  price  to  have  laid 
it  at  the  feet  of  the  Egyptian  sorceress!"  The  breeze 
had  died  away,  the  tiny  flame  in  the  lotus  burned 
steadily,  the  shadow  on  the  ceiling  seemed  as  if  listen- 
ing, too.  "Marc  Antony  would  have  given  the  jewel 
of  innocence,  of  purity,  to  her  who  had  already  de- 
stroyed— a  pearl!"  The  shadow  of  the  god  appeared 
to  start.  I  looked  uneasily  over  my  shoulder  and  saw 
two  eyes  watching  me  intently — the  eyes  of  my  an- 
cestor. "The  opal  worn  by  the  Empress  Josephine," 
continued  the  palmist,  "bore  a  strange  name:  L'in- 
cendie  de  Troie.  It  disappeared.  When — who  can 
say?  Where  is  it — who  can  tell?  Misfortune  came; 
the  opal  was — lost." 

There  came  a  sharp  knock  at  the  door.  I  paid  no 
heed — I  must  ask  a  question  first.  "My  choice?"  I 

270 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

whispered,  eagerly,  "what  is  it  to  be?  Between  two 
miseries?  Can  I  refuse  this  choice ?" 

I  was  strangely  affected — carried  away  by  a  some- 
thing, I  did  not  know  what,  about  this  man.  An  air 
of  strength,  perhaps.  Not  strength  of  the  body — but 
of  the  mind,  of  the  soul.  A  feeling  that  he  had 
sought,  and  found,  not  only  wisdom,  but,  in  it,  peace. 

The  knocking  was  repeated.  Then  the  door  was 
abruptly  opened.  The  shadow  of  the  god  flung  itself 
across  the  length  of  the  room,  then,  as  the  light  from 
the  hall  rushed  in,  drew  back — disappeared. 

"The  Buddha  himself  makes  answer,"  said  the 
palmist. 

In  the  doorway  stood  Herbert  and  Etienne. 

They  brought  me  back  to  real  life,  for  they  said 
they  were  waiting  for  me — that  supper  was  served. 


271 


xxrv 

On  my  dressing-table  the  following  morning  I  found 
a  gift  from  the  palmist.  A  fan — a  strange  one.  It 
was  arranged  to  hang  from  the  belt  by  a  slender  snake 
of  silver;  so  pliable,  its  scales  so  fitting  into  each  other, 
that  I  could  twist  it  this  way  and  that  at  my  ease. 
The  reptile  held  the  ring  of  the  fan  in  its  mouth;  its 
tail  was  looped  around  the  hook — a  lotus  leaf — that 
slipped  inside  my  belt.  The  sticks  of  the  fan  were  of 
ivory,  the  two  outside  ones  heavily  embossed  with 
lotus-flowers  of  silver.  The  fan  was  large — of  dull 
gray  silk.  On  it  was  the  picture  of  a  pond  about 
whose  edges  floated  the  lotus,  in  bloom.  So  cleverly 
was  this  painted,  that  as  I  waved  the  fan  to  and  fro 
the  water  seemed  to  ripple,  the  flowers  to  sway,  and 
deep  in  the  heart  of  the  little  lake  a  face  appeared — 
the  face  of  the  Buddha. 

When  not  in  motion  the  face,  beneath  its  veil  of 
rippling  water,  was  hardly  visible;  the  lilies  were 
quiet,  the  water  still. 

Twisted  between  the  sticks  of  the  fan  was  a  slip  of 
paper  on  which  was  written,  in  flowing  handwriting, 
these  lines: 

As  weapon  grave,  as  weapon  gay 
(Or  heart  to  save,  or  heart  to  slay), 
Hang  at  thy  side,  as  sword,  alway. 
(Need  comes  to-morrow,  or — to-day  ?) 

Both  fan  and  paper  were  heavy  with  the  scent  of 
sandal-wood. 

As  I  looked  admiringly  at  this  evidence  of  the  palm- 
ist's courtesy  toward  his  hostess,  the  words  of  his  verse 

'272 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

brought  to  my  recollection  the  use  to  which  my  Scotch 
ancestress  had  put  her  fan  when  saving  the  life  of  the 
young  Hungarian,  the  gypsy.  Yet  the  palmist  could 
never  have  heard  this  story !  Then  my  mind  reverted 
to  the  opal,  to  its  strange  disappearance,  and  the 
palmist's  words  about  its  recovery — and  my  choice. 
Scarce  knowing  that  I  did  so,  I  again  read  his  dog- 
gerel, and  lifting  it,  held  it  between  me  and  the  light, 
idly  wondering  of  what  the  odd  silky  paper  on  which 
it  was  written  was  made.  To  my  surprise  I  saw  that 
in  the  spaces  between  the  lines  of  the  verse  there  ran, 
in  each,  two  other  lines,  written  in  very  small  but  per- 
fectly legible  characters.  This  had  been  done  with 
pale  yellow  ink. 

Like  subtle  poison,  sure  if  slow, 
The  Opal's  vengeance  follows  on. 

Grim  Death  will  hail  its  twice-doomed  foe 
Ere  thrice  again  has  set  the  sun. 

And  ere  thrice  the  sun  has  set 
Comes  thy  choice — do  not  forget ! 

I  smiled  as  I  put  the  slip  of  paper  away,  amused  by 
the  would-be  necromancer's  effort  to  impress  me.  I 
promised  myself  that  I  would  show  the  curious  verse 
to  Etienne,  after  our  guests  had  left  Braithe,  and  he 
was  at  leisure  to  think  of  me  a  little.  That  the 
palmist  had  succeeded  in  thoroughly  interesting  every- 
body, was  proved  by  the  conversation  over  the  supper 
table.  He  had  been  voted  a  wonder  by  all — except- 
ing Herbert,  who  declared  that  he  had  been  told  noth- 
ing of  the  least  importance. 

Since  it  was  Sunday  morning,  I  did  not,  at  first, 
intend  to  wear  my  new  ornament ;  but  upon  reflecting 
that  were  the  palmist  still  at  Braithe,  he  might  feel 
hurt  did  I  fail  to  show  appreciation,  I  hung  it  at  my 
side,  as  he  had  wished.  It  was  wondered  over,  ad- 

273 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

mired,  pronounced  a  gem,  by  every  woman  in  the 
house.  Some  were  envious;  others  declared  that  it 
was  uncanny,  pointing  out  the  lifelike  sinuosity  of  the 
long  silver  snake,  the  odd  watchful  expression  in  the 
reptile's  moonstone  eyes,  and  the  strange  face — now 
hidden,  now  revealed — under  the  rippling  water  of 
the  lotus  pond.  To  Etienne  alone  the  palmist's  gen- 
erosity seemed  to  give  profound  satisfaction. 

The  day  was  hot  and  sultry,  with  the  promise  of 
more  thunder  showers.  There  had  been  no  good 
clearing  after  the  heavy  one  of  Saturday  morning. 
The  atmosphere  was  heavy  and  oppressive,  very  try- 
ing to  those  in  delicate  health.  Poor  little  Jane  looked 
so  miserable  that  I  coaxed  her  into  the  hammock  with 
me  after  luncheon,  when  we  had  the  rose-garden  to 
ourselves,  all  our  guests  having  gone  to  their  own 
rooms  for  their  usual  siesta. 

"How  sweet  you  are  in  that  black  gauzy  stuff, 
Theo!"  said  the  child,  pillowing  her  golden  head  on 
my  shoulder.  "Your  arms  and  shoulders  look  lovely 
through  it,  so  white  and  cool!  I'd  like  to  sleep  a  lit- 
tle, if  it  wouldn't  tire  you  too  much  to  hold  me." 

"Didn't  you  rest  well  last  night,  pet?"  I  asked, 
anxiously. 

"Well  enough,  I  guess,"  said  the  child,  patting  my 
cheek  softly.  "And,  anyway,  you're  not  to  fret  about 
me.  There,  let's  sing  each  other  to  sleep  and  forget 
our  troubles,"  and  she  began  to  croon  a  little  French 
lullaby. 

I  was  so  tired  that,  although  I  had  intended  to  keep 
awake  and  guard  Janey's  slumbers,  I  fell  sound  asleep. 
I  was  roused  by  hearing  the  child  softly  cautioning 
someone  not  to  wake  me. 

"Hush!"  she  whispered,  "she's  asleep,  poor  thing. 
Don't  she  look  lovely,  just  like  a  weary  flower!  But 
you  sit  down,  close  by  me.  Draw  up  that  chair, 

274 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"I'm  awake,  Jane,"  I  said,  and  opened  my  eyes. 
Seated  close  by  the  child,  facing  us,  looking  steadily  at 
me,  was  Etienne. 

"We  were  admiring  you,  dear,"  said  Janey. 
"Weren't  we,  Etienne?"  He  smiled  kindly  at  the 
child.  "You're  beautiful  with  your  eyes  shut,  Theo," 
she  went  on;  "your  lashes  are  so  sweet  against  your 
cheek!  She  was  looking  down  when  you  first  saw 
her,  wasn't  she,  Etienne?"  He  shook  his  head. 
"What  was  she  doing  then?" 

"Her  eyes  were  very  wide  open,"  said  Etienne,  an 
expression  of  such  admiration  in  his  that  I  felt  my 
color  rise,  "and  she  was  scolding  very  hard  and  stamp- 
ing her  foot." 

"What?"  cried  Jane,  sitting  up  in  her  surprise. 

"Yes,"  said  Etienne,  with  an  amused  smile,  "but 
she  wasn't  scolding  me,  Jane.  She  wore,"  he  went  on, 
impressively,  "a  blue  and  white  check  frock,  soaking 
wet ;  and  her  dark  mane,  as  she  shook  it  in  her  indigna- 
tion, flung  off  a  shower  of  drops.  When  she  saw  me, 
she  ran  away."  He  stopped  speaking,  and  a  look  of 
sadness  clouded  his  dark  face. 

"And  then?"  questioned  little  Jane,  her  eyes  big 
with  interest. 

"Then  ?"  echoed  Etienne,  absently. 

"Yes,"  urged  Janey,  "what  happened  then?" 

"Nothing  much,"  he  said,  steadily,  "only  I  discov- 
ered that  I  had  fallen  in  love — that  was  all." 

"The  cat  episode!"  cried  Jane,  in  wild  excitement. 
"Did  you  help  beat  Herbert?  When  did  you  see  her 
again?  Why  didn't  you  come  and  see  her,  like  the 
others?  Why  did  you  wait  so  long,  Etienne?"  She 
sank  down  beside  me  again;  then,  turning  an  anxious 
little  face,  asked  why  my  heart  beat  so.  "It  throbs, 
and  throbs!"  she  said. 

I  colored  hotly.  Etienne's  eyes  flashed,  as  if  in 
sudden  excitement 

275 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"Lay  your  cheek  against  it,  Janey,"  he  said,  softly, 
"and  you  may,  perhaps,  learn  its  secrets." 

The  child  obeyed,  holding  up  a  small  finger  to 
enjoin  silence.  "It  repeats  two  names  over  and  over, 
just  two,"  she  said,  and  laughed  out  in  elfish  fashion. 

"What  two,  Jane?"  questioned  Etienne,  a  note  of 
intense  eagerness  in  his  voice. 

"If  I  tell  you,"  said  the  child,  "may  I  hear  about 
all  your  sweethearts?" 

"I  never  had  but  one,"  he  said,  gravely. 

"No,  no,  Jane,"  I  interposed.  I  was  cut  to  the 
quick  already  by  his  nonsense  about  seeing  me  as  a 
child.  I  felt  I  could  not  stand  any  more.  "You 
mustn't  tease  Etienne." 

"May  I  hear  about  that  one  ?"  Janey  went  on,  pay- 
ing no  attention  to  my  words. 

"Yes — if  Theo  is  willing,  Jane." 

"Her  heart  says,"  whispered  the  child,  "  'Janey, 
Etienne — Etienne,  Janey!'  Our  names — just  ours." 

Etienne  bent  forward,  putting  an  arm  across  the 
hammock,  and  rested  his  hand  on  the  strands  close 
against  my  shoulder.  He  looked  into  my  eyes  until 
I  was  forced  to  glance  away — daunted,  frightened,  by 
the  glow  in  his. 

"May  I  tell  the  child  my  love  story,  Theo?"  he 
murmured. 

I  felt  myself  paling  to  the  lips.  "If  you  tell  but 
the  truth,"  I  said,  coldly. 

"Isn't  her  neck  lovely  through  this  filmy  stuff?" 
said  Jane,  dreamily;  "see,  I  shall  lay  my  head  just 
here,"  patting  me  softly,  "and  listen  to  your  story." 

"Isn't  this  golden  hair  lovely,  you  mean,"  I  said, 
drawing  a  long  lock  through  my  fingers.  "But  you're 
not  a  vain  little  pussy!" 

"Vain!"  exclaimed  the  child.  "How  can  I  be, 
when  it's  worn  long  to  cover  a  hump?" 

I  glanced  appealingly  at  Etienne.  His  answer 
'276 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

startled  me,  for,  stooping,  he  kissed  both  golden  tress 
and  the  fingers  that  held  it.  I  drew  my  hand  away. 

"It  is  too  soon  for  my  love  story,  then?"  he  said, 
sadly.  "Yet  I  have  waited  so  long,  Theo!" 

"Go  ahead,"  commanded  small  Jane,  "we're  both 
ready  now.  Why  did  you  wait,  that's  the  question? 
Of  course  you  fell  in  love  with  my  Theo  the  minute 
you  saw  her — they  all  do — but  why  didn't  you  con- 
trive to  see  her  again  and  say  so?" 

"I  saw  her  every  year,"  said  Etienne,  gravely,  "but 
I  took  great  care  that  she  should  not  see  me." 

"Why?"  demanded  the  child. 

"I  was  only  a  Rappelle " 

"And  you  were  afraid  that  father  would  make  her 
marry  you  for  your  money,"  cried  Jane,  starting  up 
again  in  her  eagerness,  "and  he  would.  But — oh 
dear  me!"  she  burst  into  a  sudden  storm  of  sobs,  "she's 
done  it,  after  all." 

"No,  Jane,"  I  said,  earnestly,  clasping  the  poor 
little  thing  in  my  arms,  and  forgetting  Etienne  in  my 
desire  to  soothe  her,  "no,  no,  no." 

"For  what  then?"  demanded  Etienne,  sternly. 
"Don't  quiet  the  child  with  falsehoods." 

"You  shan't  scold  Theo,"  she  wailed,  "for  she's 
'most  too  good  to  live !  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear,  now  I've 
gone  and  made  myself  think  of  that  awful  Portent 
again!  I  can't  sleep  for  thinking  about  it.  I'm  too 
bad  a  child  to  want  to  go  in  the  Death  Coach,  yet  I'm 
the  one  who  ought  to,  because  of  my  crooked  back — 
Lilian  said  so,  and  for  once  she's  right." 

I  made  no  further  effort  to  soothe  her.  I  knew  it 
would  be  best  for  her  to  speak  her  heart  out. 

"This  morning  I  thought  mean  thoughts  of  people," 
she  went  on.  "They  all  came  to  church  for  the  first 
time,  and  I  knew  why!  They  hoped  to  flatter  the 
Lord  God  into  helping  them  get  their  jewels  back — 
and  I  was  glad  He'd  be  angry  with  them  for  it,  yes,  I 

277 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

was !  Old  gump  Bandhar  down  on  his  marrow-bones, 
bawling  out  the  responses  as  if  he  were  good  as  good; 
and  all  the  time  with  half  his  mind  full  of  scarf-pins, 
and  the  other  half  full  of  hatred  of  Herbert." 

"Why  of  Herbert?"  asked  Etienne,  quickly. 

"Oh,  because  Herbert's  so  fond  of  Theo — he's  got  a 
right  to  be,  for  he's  our  cousin — and  Bandhar's  as  silly 
over  her  himself!  No,  not  quite  so  silly,  but  almost." 

"No  wonder  that  my  story  fails  to  rouse  interest, 
when  you  listen  to  so  many  every  day,"  said  Etienne, 
looking  at  me  coldly. 

Janey  dried  her  eyes,  forgetting  herself  in  watch- 
ing us. 

"You  tell  such  different  tales,"  I  said,  suavely, 
"that  I  always  find  them  interesting." 

"Different,  Theo?     Pray  explain." 

"Before  the  child?"  I  asked. 

"Yes." 

"What  about  the  charming  girl,  married  to  the  man 
who  fails  to  understand  her?" 

"Do  I  understand  you,  Theo?" 

I  was  ashamed  of  the  glow  of  happiness  that  sud- 
denly warmed  my  heart. 

"This  is  extremely  interesting,"  said  Janey,  in  an 
awed  voice.  "May  I  help?  Etienne,"  very  sol- 
emnly, "I  think  Theo  likes  you  better  than  anybody 
in  the  world — after  me.  Now  then,  please  kiss  her 
betrothal  ring,  and  say  that  the  big  ruby  is  a  drop  of 
your  heart's  blood." 

Etienne  said  nothing,  but  he  kissed  both  the  ruby 
and  my  hand. 

"There  goes  your  heart  again,  Theo,  thump,  thump, 
thump!"  said  Jane.  "Don't  you  feel  well?  Yes? 
Then  why  don't  you  tell  poor  Etienne  how  much  you 
care  for  him  now?" 

"Say  something  nice  to  me,  Theo,  if  you  can," 
pleaded  Etienne. 

278 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

I  smiled  and  blushed.  How  foolish  they  were — 
yet  I  found  their  nonsense  sweet. 

"You  are  both  geese,"  I  said.  "But  I  prefer  geese 
to  swans — sometimes." 

Etienne  still  held  my  hand  in  his,  little  Jane  clasped 
them  close  in  both  of  hers.  "Do  you  like  him  next 
best  to  me,  Theo?  Answer." 

"Yes,  Jane,"  I  whispered,  meekly. 

"Well  now,  Etienne,  I  hope  you're  satisfied!"  said 
the  child. 

"No,  not  yet,  little  Jane,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"Then  you're  a  Greedy  Peter,"  said  Jane,  severely, 
"for  you  can't  come  first.  I'm  first  with  Theo,  always. 
Listen  to  the  soft  rustle,  rustle,  up  above  in  the 
branches.  The  leaves  are  talking  to  the  birds.  Isn't 
it  pleasant  here  under  these  great  big  trees?  How 
quiet  the  river  is;  and  such  a  queer  gray!  And  the 
sky's  beginning  to  match  it — it  looks  unnatural,  some- 
how !  I  hate  unnatural  things !  I'm  unnatural,  Her- 
bert's unnatural.  I  do  believe  a  storm  is  coming!" 

"In  what  way?"  Etienne  asked. 

"In  what  way  what?"  demanded  the  child.  "Oh, 
you  mean  about  Herbert — gracious,  here  comes 
Hervey!  Now  what  does  he  want?  It's  always  the 
way !  Just  when  we  three  are  having  a  perfect  time 
together,  all  soothed  down,  forgetting  our  worries, 
then  along  comes  somebody  to  interrupt.  What  is  it, 
Hervey,  please?" 

Etienne  was  frowning  at  his  faithful  servant,  and  I, 
too,  felt  annoyed.  Jane's  grumbling  was  echoed  in 
our  hearts.  We  were  very  comfortable — Hervey  was 
not  welcome.  I  was  more  than  comfortable,  I  was 
ridiculously  happy.  Happy  that  the  very  thing  had 
happened  that  I  had  so  earnestly  wished  to  prevent; 
Etienne  loved  me!  To  be  sure,  my  happiness  was  a 
trifle  marred  by  self -scorn;  I  had  the  grace  to  be 
ashamed  of  my  unconquerable  desire  to  please.  My 

279 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

conscience  reproved  me  for  the  delight  I  felt  in  learn- 
ing that  I,  and  I  alone,  filled  my  husband's  heart — 
that  I  had  not,  never  had  had,  any  rival. 

"Mrs.  Gill  wishes  to  see  Mrs.  Rappelle,"  Hervey 
announced. 

"Well,"  sighed  Jane,  "I  mind  her  less  than  one  of 
those  tiresome  strangers-within-our-gates.  You  will 
stay  with  me,  won't  you,  Etienne?" 

"Yes,  Janey,"  he  said,  kindly,  as  he  almost  lifted 
me  from  my  hammock.  "Theo,"  he  whispered,  as  he 
slowly  released  me,  "did  you  mean  what  you  said  just 
now?  Do  I  come — next  to  the  child?" 

"Yes,  Etienne." 

"My  darling!"  he  murmured.  I  moved  hurriedly 
away. 

"Straws  show  which  way  the  wind  blows,"  said 
Hervey,  as  he  followed  me  to  the  house,  "and  felts 
and  velvets  likewise,  I  imagine.  Hers  is  on  her  right 
ear." 

I  knew  that  he  alluded  to  Mrs.  Gill's  bonnet. 

"I  hope  nothing  has  gone  wrong  at  the  farm,  Her- 
vey," I  said. 

"I  fear  something  has,  Mrs.  Rappelle,  since  her  mind 
to  her  a  king-pin  isn't,"  he  answered,  gravely.  "She 
doesn't  even  smile  as  she  would  want  to  smile — she's 
talking,  with  an  effort,  to  Mr.  Praie." 

Hervey  was  right;  Mrs.  Gill  sat  in  her  high  buggy, 
her  lilac-bestrewn  bonnet  on  one  side,  making  a  very 
apparent  effort  to  keep  up  a  lively  conversation  with 
one  of  the  detectives.  She  was  evidently  relieved  to 
see  me,  and  asked  if  I  would  drive  a  little  way  with 
her,  as  she  wished  to  talk  to  me. 

"We  all  come  to  Mrs.  Rappelle  now,  same  as  we  did 
when  she  was  Miss  Braithe,"  she  explained,  with  an 
air  of  gracious  condescension  to  Mr.  Praie,  who  was 
helping  me  into  the  buggy.  "She  an'  me  often  put 
our  heads  together  over  advising  each  other."  And 

280 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

with  a  smile  that  was  intended  to  be  arch,  but  was  only 
ghastly,  because  of  her  liveliness  being  forced,  we 
drove  rapidly  away.  When  we  had  passed  between 
the  Leopards,  however,  she  drew  the  horse  down  to  a 
walk. 

"He  may  be  smart  as  all  possessed,  Miss  Theo,  but 
he  certainly  doesn't  look  to  be!"  she  said,  alluding  to 
the  detective.  "Whatever  keeps  'em  hangin'  or  here 
so  long,  I  wonder?  Them  thieves  must  be  miles  away 
by  now !  But  p'raps  they  enjoy  our  mountainous  air." 
Then,  dismissing  the  detectives  from  her  thoughts, 
she  turned  an  anxious  face  toward  me.  "I'm  harried 
most  to  death  about  Jim,"  she  said.  "They  say  he's 
been  hangin'  'round  the  brick-yards  lately,  and  I  seen 
him,  only  a  half-hour  back,  slip  along  past  the  alders 
just  above  the  brook,  as  I  crossed  the  bridge  on  my 
way  to  church.  I  jest  turned  back  an'  come  quick  for 
you.  I  think  by  now  he's  at  the  edge  of  the  meadows 
yonder,  in  the  woods,"  pointing  toward  the  river  with 
her  whip.  "Most  likely  in  the  little  path  that  runs 
top  o'  the  bank.  I  do  want  my  Jim  to  quit  roamin' 
and  come  home!"  she  burst  out,  with  sudden  vehe- 
mence. "No,"  as  I  would  have  spoken,  "of  course  I 
know  he  can't  stay — though  it's  an  extryordinary 
thing  to  me  why  him  an'  Mr.  Gill  can't  agree !  The 
green-eyed  monster,  I  guess,  Miss  Theo,"  wagging  her 
head  with  would-be  playfulness.  "But  there,  you 
can't  mix  oil  an'  water,  and  if  Jim  does  take  after  me, 
his  temper  is  most  extryordinarily  like  Mr.  Wylde's, 
who,  when  riled,  was  worse  than  a  prickly  catcus — but 
it's  ill  speakin'  against  the  dead.  Now  Abel  has  the 
sweetest,  flacidest  disposition,  but  Jim  was  always  a 
limb  of  Satan!  If  only  Mr.  Rappelle  would  get  a 
chance  for  the  poor  boy  out  West ;  an'  if  you'll  speak 
a  word  to  him  now — I  dassen't  myself,  he  bein'  so 
mad!" 

"I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  that  you  are  still  anxioua 
281 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

about  him,"  I  said,  gravely.  Then,  remembering 
what  Herbert  had  told  me  about  giving  Jim  a  chance 
to  earn  his  living,  I  added,  "I  understood  Mr.  Fayne 
to  say  that  Jim  was  doing  well  now." 

Mrs.  Gill  shook  her  head.  "  'Tain't  true,"  she  said, 
sadly.  "I  guess  Mr.  Herbert's  the  same  as  ever; 
he  always  would  say  black  was  white  to  pleasure  you. 
Oh,  Miss  Theo,  if  you  only  would  try  what  you  can 
do!  Jim  sets  such  store'  by  you."  I  got  out  of  the 
buggy.  "But  you  ain't  got  any  parasol!  Nor  a  hat! 
Oh,  Miss  Theo!" 

I  assured  her  that  I  needed  no  protection  from  the 
sun  since  the  sky  was,  as  little  Jane  had  pointed  out, 
already  overcast. 

"An'  you've  got  a  fan,  too,"  said  Mrs.  Gill.  "My, 
but  that  snake  looks  extry ordinarily  reel !  I  can  most 
see  it  wriggle."  I  took  it  from  my  belt  that  she  might 
examine  it  more  closely.  She  passed  her  finger  over 
the  silver  lilies  embossed  upon  the  outside  sticks. 

"Ain't  they  heavy!"  she  exclaimed,  in  admiration, 
"yet  they  appear  to  be  as  light  as  light,  jest  floatin'. 
I  won't  wait,  if  you  don't  mind,  Miss  Theo;  'twouldn't 
do  for  him  to  see  me  here." 

She  drove  away  while  I,  replacing  the  fan  at  my 
side,  and  catching  up  my  pretty  trailing  skirts  lest 
unseen  briers  should  rend  them,  walked  swiftly  across 
the  meadow  toward  the  point  indicated.  The  woods 
grew  thick  upon  the  steep  bank  above  the  river,  and 
the  underbrush  was  dense  and  difficult  to  push  aside. 
As  I  picked  my  way  carefully  through  the  thicket, 
thinking  every  moment  to  come  upon  the  little  foot- 
path, I  stopped  now  and  again  to  listen,  hoping  to  hear 
Jim's  firm  footfall,  or  the  crackling  of  twigs,  to  tell 
me  of  his  neighborhood.  But  I  heard  nothing,  save 
the  ordinary  woodland  sounds.  Presently  I  found 
the  path — a  mere  track  worn  by  the  workmen — and 
stood  uncertain  which  way  to  go.  I  decided  to  turn 

282 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

to  the  right,  but  after  skirting  the  bank,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  entrance  gate,  for  some  distance,  I  felt  sure 
that  I  might  better  have  gone  the  other  way,  and  have 
followed  the  path  eastward,  toward  the  chapel.  This 
I  did  with  no  better  success.  Jim  was  nowhere  to  be 
seen. 

Despairing  of  finding  him,  I  returned  to  the  place 
where  I  had  at  first  come  out  from  the  thicket,  think- 
ing that  if  he  were  still  in  the  wood  he  must  pass  by 
me  to  return  to  the  high-road.  Here,  beneath  a  tall 
walnut  tree,  I  seated  myself  to  wait,  with  what  patience 
I  might,  for  one  who  in  all  probability  would  not  come. 
My  thoughts  were  such  pleasant  company,  however, 
that  some  time  passed  before  I  realized  that  I  had 
been  waiting  long;  and  then  it  was  an  odd  rustling  in 
the  underbrush  that  recalled  my  mission  to  my  wan- 
dering mind.  Ashamed  of  my  selfishness,  I  listened 
intently.  Was  it  Jim?  A  long  moment  passed ;  then 
a  brown  rabbit  hopped  briskly  into  the  path,  and,  see- 
ing me,  came  to  an  abrupt  standstill.  The  little 
creature  was  so  much  frightened  that  its  tiny  heart 
throbbed,  and  I  held  myself  as  motionless  as  the  tree- 
trunk  against  which  I  leaned,  hoping  to  quiet  its  ter- 
rors. I  succeeded  in  convincing  it  that  I  was  harm- 
less, for  after  a  few  moments  it  hopped  away  and  dis- 
appeared. 

Tired  of  sitting  still,  I  began  to  walk  up  and  down 
the  narrow  track,  quite  without  hope  of  seeing  Jim, 
yet  unwilling  to  return  to  the  house  until  I  had  waited 
as  long  as  possible.  I  felt  I  must  give  him  every 
chance.  Because  of  the  dull  heavens,  it  was  already 
darker  than  it  should  have  been  at  that  time  of  the 
afternoon.  I  fancied  that  it  must  be  long  past  six 
o'clock.  Under  the  heavy  trees,  shut  in  so  closely  by 
the  thicket  of  underbrush,  a  gloomy  twilight  reigned. 
The  dampness  from  the  recent  showers  brought  out 
all  the  sweet  scents  of  the  woods,  and  had  it  not  been 

283 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

for  the  knowledge  that  Etienne  might  disapprove  of 
my  loitering,  unaccompanied,  so  far  from  home,  I 
would  have  enjoyed  the  repose  of  the  hour. 

Below  the  rugged  slope  the  river  seemed  to  be  say- 
ing "Hu-s-h,  hu-s-h!"  to  the  shore.  I  stopped  to  lis- 
ten. As  I  did  so  a  hand  was  laid  lightly  upon  my 
arm.  Terrified,  I  turned  quickly,  crying,  "Jim?" 

It  was  Herbert  Fayne. 


284 


XXV 

I  had  not  been  alone  with  Herbert  since  the 
night  of  the  accident,  but  his  look  of  displeased  sur- 
prise quickly  dispelled  my  alarm.  For  if  I  frowned 
at  him,  he  certainly  did  not  smile  at  me;  but,  his  fin- 
gers tightening  upon  my  arm,  eyed  me  with  suspicion. 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  Dora?"  he  demanded. 

"I  am  looking  for  Jim  Wylde,  Herbert,"  I  said, 
coldly.  "Have  you  seen  him?" 

"And  what  do  you  want  of  Jim?"  he  asked. 

"I  wish  to  speak  to  him,  Herbert — please  let  go  of 
my  arm — I  want  him  to  be  reconciled  with  his  people, 
to  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  and  to  go  home." 

"You  want  to  spoil  him  with  some  philanthropic 
nonsense,  I  suppose.  Is  that  it?"  he  said,  sneeringly. 
"You  want  Rappelle  to  provide  for  him?" 

I  did  not  answer. 

"You  mustn't  pauperize  poor  old  Jim,  Dolly,"  he 
continued,  slipping  his  fingers  down  my  arm  until  he 
could  clasp  my  hand,  "that  will  never  do!" 

"Have  you  been  talking  to  him  yourself?"  I  asked. 
"Have  you  really  given  him  work,  and  renewed  your 
old  intimacy?" 

"There  never  was,  never  could  be,  any  intimacy 
between  Jim  Wylde  and  me,"  was  the  careless  answer. 
"Class  distinctions  forbid." 

"Class  distinctions!"  I  exclaimed,  scornfully. 
"What  nonsense  you  talk!  You  are  both  Americans, 
your  grandfathers  were  Americans,  so  you  stand  as 
equals  in  the  race." 

"What  race,  dear?"  he  asked,  idly. 
285 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"The  race  for  success,"  I  said.  "You  look  as 
though  dressed  for  some  race  now." 

He  wore  a  blue  shirt  of  light-weight  flannel,  knick- 
erbockers, golf  stockings,  and  tennis  shoes.  These  last 
had  enabled  him  to  approach  me  noiselessly,  their  rub- 
ber soles  making  no  sound.  He  wore  no  hat,  and  the 
damp  atmosphere  made  his  closely  cropped  hair  curl 
in  soft  rings  about  his  forehead.  This  careless  dress 
showed  his  beautiful  figure  to  the  utmost  advantage. 
His  necktie  was  almost  unfastened,  allowing  the  flan- 
nel collar  to  fall  away  from  his  pillar-like  throat;  his 
sleeves  were  rolled  up  above  the  elbow,  disclosing  mag- 
nificently shaped  arms.  I  thought  I  had  never  seen 
anyone  to  compare  with  him — but  I  tried  to  draw 
away  my  hand. 

"I  make  all  the  others  sing  small,  Dolly?"  he  asked, 
smiling,  the  suspicious  expression  dying  from  his  eyes, 
and  the  one  I  feared  succeeding  it.  "Is  that  what 
you're  thinking,  dear?" 

"Let  me  go,  Herbert,"  I  commanded.  "It  is  time 
I  was  at  home." 

He  did  not  answer,  but  looked  down  at  me  in  a  way 
that  made  me  wish  that  the  black  silk  lining  of  my 
thin  summer  gown  were  cut  high.  In  a  passion  of  in- 
dignation I  strove  to  wrench  my  hand  away.  I 
stamped  my  foot. 

"Herbert,"  I  cried,  "you  are  detestable!  Let  me 
go,  at  once." 

"Dear,  dear,  what  a  little  termagant!"  he  said,  smil- 
ing, and  released  my  hand  only  to  catch  me  lightly, 
but  firmly,  about  the  waist  with  both  arms.  I  placed 
my  hands  upon  his  breast,  pushing  him  from  me.  This 
he  allowed,  as  far  as  the  length  of  his  arms  would  per- 
mit. "No  horses  for  me  to  manage  here,"  he  went 
on,  "I  can  devote  myself  entirely  to  my  sweet  little 
cousin!" 

His  eyes  shone,  but  he  had  paled  in  his  excitement 
286 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

— he  looked  a  reckless  dare-devil.  So  must  Apollo 
have  looked,  I  thought,  when  he  pursued  poor 
Daphne ;  and  a  great  disgust  filled  my  heart. 

"Herbert,"  I  said,  gravely,  trying  to  conceal  both 
this  feeling  and  my  fear,  "because  you  are  my  cousin 
I  have  given  you,  as  such,  many  rights " 

"I  want  a  husband's — or  a  lover's,  Dolly,"  he  broke 
in,  quickly,  "a  cousin's  rights  be  hanged!" 

This  insult  stung  me  to  fury  and,  scarce  knowing 
what  I  did,  I  lifted  my  fan  and  struck  him  sharply 
across  the  face.  Because  of  the  silver  lotus-flowers, 
the  blow  was  a  heavy  one ;  but,  disregarding  it,  he  only 
laughed  gayly,  as  if  in  delight  at  my  prowess,  and, 
crushing  me  to  him,  cried: 

"You  know  the  saying,  Dolly — a  kiss  for  a  blow! 
Now,  take  what  you  have  earned." 

Covering  my  face  with  both  hands,  I  strove,  desper- 
ately, to  save  myself  from  the  stain  of  his  lips,  although 
heart-sick  from  the  consciousness  that  this  effort  must 
prove  vain.  Then  I  heard  singing  close  at  hand — 
and  knew  that  I  was  free.  Someone  was  approaching, 
along  the  road  from  the  direction  of  the  chapel. 

' '  Her  brow  is  like  the  snaw-drift, 

Her  throat  is  like  the  swan ; 
Her  face  it  is  the  fairest " 

sang  a  pleasant  tenor  voice.  Herbert  released  me 
quickly,  moving  aside;  and,  as  I  strove  to  regain  my 
composure,  Mr.  Praie,  the  detective,  appeared  before 
us. 

"I'm  after  you,  Mr.  Fayne,"  he  said,  taking  off  his 
hat  in  acknowledgment  of  my  presence. 

"What?"  exclaimed  Herbert,  sharply,  stepping  back 
a  pace,  and  eying  the  man  oddly. 

"Can't  do  without  you,  sir,"  was  the  smiling  an- 
swer, "for  you're  a  host  in  yourself!" 

Herbert,  looking  relieved,  said,  with  his  customary 
287 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

air  of  good-nature,  that  he  was  quite  at  Mr.  Praie'a 
disposal. 

As  I  tried  to  recover  some  ease  of  manner,  realizing 
keenly  all  the  time  the  impossibility  of  hiding  my  dis- 
tress, I  could  not  but  agree  with  Mrs.  Gill  in  her  opin- 
ion, that  the  detective  was  stupid.  For  he  stood  star- 
ing at  us  with  an  air  of  benevolent  density,  apparently 
unconscious  of  my  embarrassment,  and  not  seeming  to 
see  the  mark  of  my  fan  across  Herbert's  cheek.  But, 
even  while  I  wondered,  he  commented  upon  this. 

"I  guess  you've  been  scrambling  up  the  bank 
through  the  brambles,"  he  said,  comfortably,  "they've 
slapped  your  face  badly." 

"Yes,"  said  Herbert,  coloring  faintly,  "you're  right, 
as  always,  Praie.  It  would  take  a  clever  chap  to  fool 
you!"  ; 

Again  I  wondered  at  the  detective's  obtuseness — 
but  was  it  real  or  only  assumed?  Herbert  had  made 
no  effort  to  hide  the  sneer  in  his  voice,  yet  the  man 
chuckled,  as  if  pleased  by  his  flattery.  Mr.  Praie  was 
fat  and  sandy.  He  looked  as  if  he  might  readily  de- 
tect a  mistake  in  some  favorite  dish,  but  not  a  flaw  in 
the  heart  of  a  fellow-creature. 

"I  guess  you've  been  playing  tennis,"  he  now  said, 
with  an  air  of  conceit  that  I  might,  under  other  cir- 
cumstances, have  found  amusing. 

"Right  again,"  said  Herbert,  laughing;  and  his 
laugh  was  insolent. 

"Want  to  know  how  I  knew?"  demanded  the  de- 
tective. 

"Yes,"  sneered  Herbert. 

"Tennis  shoes,"  said  Mr.  Praie,  pointing  at  Her- 
bert's feet  with  a  fat  forefinger. 

"Praie,  you're  an  out-and-out  marvel!"  exclaimed 
Herbert.  "Those  thieves  haven't  the  ghost  of  a 
chance,  have  they,  Dolly?"  And  he  smiled  at  me  as 
fondly  as  though  we  had  been  alone. 

288 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

I  became  suddenly  afraid  that  Mr.  Praie  might 
leave  us;  while  the  fear  that  he  might  not  seemed  to 
enter  Herbert's  head  at  the  same  moment,  for  he  said, 
hastily,  "I  must  take  my  cousin  home  before  I  can  be 
of  any  use  to  you,  Praie.  I  don't  like  to  have  her  go 
alone — so  many  toughs  about,  you  know.  You  wait 
here,  and  I'll  be  back  in  a  jiffy." 

"Toughs?  Yes,  you  may  bet  your  life!"  was  the 
cheerful  answer.  "I  stumble  upon  'em  by  the  dozen 
— in  my  profession." 

I  looked  at  the  man  appealingly — could  I  make  him 
desire  to  return  with  me?  He  must. 

"Mr.  Praie  will  come,  too,"  I  said,  smiling  at  him. 
"He  doesn't  want  to  be  caught  in  the  storm  that  is 
coming.  Do  you,  Mr.  Praie?" 

"A  storm  is  coming  sure  enough,  Mrs.  Rappelle,  but 
not  this  afternoon,  I  guess,"  was  the  placid  answer. 
"Nothing,  that  is,  but  a  preliminary  caper,  so  to 
speak,"  he  added,  jestingly. 

"No,  no,  Dolly,"  Herbert  interfered;  "Praie  will 
wait  here  for  me.  This  is  a  grand  place  to  discuss 
secrets  in." 

"Grand,"  assented  Praie,  absently;  "did  I  feel  a 
drop?"  He  held  up  a  fat  hand.  "And  you  without 
an  umbrella  or  cloak,  Mrs.  Rappelle!  Guess  you'd 
better  hurry  along." 

"Please  come,  too!"  I  said.  I  looked  at  him  pite- 
ously,  and,  unconsciously,  held  out  my  hand.  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  not  to  go  without  him. 

Herbert  stepped  quickly  forward  and  took  my  out- 
stretched hand  in  his.  "Come,  Dolly!"  he  said, 
attempting  to  draw  me  on.  "I'll  be  back  directly, 
Praie." 

I  tried  to  pull  my  hand  away;  but  Herbert,  perhaps 
counting  too  much  upon  the  detective's  lack  of  in- 
sight, released  it  only  to  throw  an  arm  around  me,  and 
urged  me  along  the  path. 

289 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"Isn't  she  an  obstinate  little  cousin?"  he  said,  in 
would-be  playful  tones.  "Come  on,  child!  Praie's 
got  sense  enough  to  know  that  two's  company." 

"And  three's  a  crowd.  And  four,"  said  the  detec- 
tive reflectively,  "is  a  gang!  A  gang  of  ruffians,  I 
guess." 

I  felt  that  the  moment  had  come  when  I  must  speak 
out,  and  tell  at  least  a  part  of  the  truth.  I  decided 
to  say  that  Herbert  was  teasing  me,  and  that  I  did  not 
wish  to  be  alone  with  him.  But  to  say  this  lightly — 
as  I  knew  it  must  be  said — required  such  an  effort, 
and  my  nerves  were  already  so  unstrung,  that  as  I 
began  to  speak  my  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"Mr.  Praie — "  I  faltered,  looking  into  his  fat  face, 
imploringly,  "Mr.  Praie " 

"Bless  me!"  he  interrupted,  apparently  not  noticing 
that  I  was  speaking,  "I'd  forgotten  all  about  it,  and 
it's  just  the  thing.  That  queer  party  gave  it  to  me, 
and  I  popped  it  in  here.  Want  to  see  a  handy  pocket, 
Mrs.  Rappelle  ?"  and  he  held  open  his  coat. 

As  Mr.  Praie  evidently  expected  my  undivided 
attention,  Herbert  was  obliged  to  let  me  go.  Grate- 
ful for  the  opportunity  to  escape  him,  if  only  for  a 
moment,  I  admired  the  large  pocket  let  into  the  lining 
of  the  detective's  coat,  enthusiastically. 

"See  what's  in  it!"  continued  Mr.  Praie,  in  a  tone 
as  though  speaking  to  a  child.  "And  you  shall  have 
it,  too,  for  he  told  me  to  give  it  to  the  lady  it  would 
become  the  most.  Ah!  there's  another  drop  of  rain. 
I  guess  I'd  better  hurry  and  cover  you  up." 

So  saying  he  drew  from  the  big  pocket  a  flat  parcel, 
wrapped  in  the  same  odd  paper  as  that  upon  which  the 
palmist  had  written  his  verse,  and,  opening  it,  disclosed 
what  appeared  to  be  but  a  square  of  very  heavy  em- 
broidery. Silver  lotus-flowers  and  their  leaves,  so 
massed  together  that  the  material  upon  which  they 
were  worked  was  invisible.  The  square,  when  un- 

290 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

folded,  proved  to  be  but  one  end  of  a  very  broad  and 
long  scarf,  of  diaphanous  gray  silk ;  and  this  Mr.  Praie 
proceeded  to  twist  deftly  about  my  shoulders.  As- 
tonished, I  stood  quite  still,  while  with  puckered  brows 
and  mouth  pursed  up,  he  arranged  the  voluminous 
scarf  to  his  liking.  When  he  had  finished,  the  broad 
embroidered  ends  completely  covered  the  thinner  part ; 
spreading  over  my  shoulders  on  either  side,  like  a 
cloak.  These  ends  were  impenetrable,  because  of 
the  silver  lilies  and  their  leaves. 

"Wait  a  bit,"  said  Mr.  Praie,  "they've  got  to  be 
fastened  at  your  throat,  front  and  back.  There's  more 
to  come,  see!" 

He  took  from  the  same  pocket  a  small  flat  box  of 
sandal-wood,  and  opened  it.  Within  were  two  little 
coiled  snakes  of  silver,  with  tiny  moonstone  eyes. 

"Brooches,"  said  the  detective,  complacently. 
"Cute,  ain't  they?  Something  like  that  wriggler 
your  fan  is  swung  on.  Guess  that  palmist  feller  buys 
'em  by  the  gross!"  He  laughed,  and,  taking  out  the 
little  pins,  fastened  my  oddly  contrived  cape  securely. 
"Whole  business  smells  of  sandal-wood,  don't  it? 
Hope  you  don't  object  to  the  scent,  Mrs.  Rappelle? 
No?  That's  good.  I  don't  like  it  myself.  Now  I 
guess,  if  you're  ready,  we'll  make  tracks  for  home. 
It  doesn't  pour,  so  to  speak,  but  it's  beginning  to  come 
down  quite  lively!"  And  keeping  up  his  common- 
place rattle  he  started  me  on  my  journey. 

His  lack  of  comprehension — or  his  pretence  of  it — 
served  me  well;  for  he  utterly  failed  to  understand 
Herbert's  efforts  to  leave  him  in  the  woods,  and,  when 
that  proved  impossible,  to  induce  him  to  give  up  his 
place  close  behind  me.  Beside  me  neither  could 
walk,  since  the  path  was  only  wide  enough  for  one. 
Hints,  innuendoes,  and,  at  last,  outspoken  remon- 
strances, were  alike  vain.  At  my  heels  Mr.  Praie 
kept  until  we  emerged  from  the  thicket,  and  entered 

291 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

the  open  path  leading  from  the  chapel  to  the  house, 
when  he  appropriated  the  place  at  my  side,  leaving 
Herbert  to  follow — and  to  fume. 

By  the  time  we  reached  home  the  rain  was  falling 
fast,  and  from  the  distance  came  the  dull  rumble  of 
thunder. 

"It  won't  last  long,"  said  Mr.  Praie,  cheerfully; 
"we're  only  getting  the  edges  of  the  shower.  See, 
Mrs.  Rappelle,  the  sun  is  trying  to  struggle  out  and 
drive  it  away  from  you,  and  Braithe  Manor!" 

Over  the  hills  to  the  west  there  was  a  slight  rift  in 
the  clouds;  but  even  as  I  looked  it  closed,  and  the 
feeble  ray  of  sunshine  was  gone. 

"Never  mind,"  said  my  kind  companion,  "the 
clouds  have  got  a  silver  lining  anyhow!" 

"Like  your  famous  pocket,"  I  said,  smiling.  "And 
if  you  will  wait  until  I  can  take  out  the  brooches,  you 
shall  have  its  lining  back  again." 

"Let  me  unfasten  them,  Dolly!"  cried  Herbert, 
springing  forward,  and  nearly  knocking  Mr.  Praie 
down.  I  was  surprised  at  the  dexterity  the  little  man 
showed  in  avoiding  him,  yet,  somehow,  managing  to 
remain  just  where  he  had  been  when  Herbert  ad- 
vanced. 

"Mrs.  Rappelle's  maid  will  do  it  best,"  he  said,  good- 
humoredly,  while  he  caught  Herbert's  arm  and 
punched  him  playfully  in  the  ribs.  "You  and  I  are 
butter-fingered  fellers,  Mr.  Fayne!  Say,  will  you 
give  me  just  three  words  apart,  now?  No,  Mrs.  Rap- 
pelle," shaking  his  head  at  me,  "I  won't  take  the 
scarf  back.  I  don't  gives  presents  with  a  string 
tied  to  'em.  Honestly  now,  I'll  feel  hurt  if  you 
won't  accept  it."  . 

"And  the  palmist?"  I  asked.  "Surely  he  will  feel 
hurt  if  you " 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  he  interrupted,  earnestly.  "But 
if  you'd  rather  not  have  it  for  keeps,  perhaps  you'll 

292 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

take  care  of  it  for  me  for  just  a  few  days.     I'd  really 
be  obliged." 

To  this  I  willingly  consented.  "Here's  Mr.  Rap- 
pelle,"  he  continued,  as  Etienne  came  into  the  hall 
from  the  library.  "Will  you  look  at  Mrs.  Rappelle's 
mackintosh,  sir?  It's  a  mighty  curious  one,  but  it's 
kept  her  shoulders  dry.  Now,  then,  Mr.  Fayne,  shall 
we  step  into  your  sanctum  sanctorum?"  And  he  drew 
Herbert  into  the  latter's  room,  leaving  Etienne  and 
me  alone. 

"Silver  wings — folded  forward!"  said  Etienne, 
smiling.  "An  odd  rain-cloak,  indeed,  Theo.  You 
went  away  with  Mrs.  Gill,  Merle  said.  Won't  you 
spare  time  to  tell  me  her  errand?" 

I  followed  him  into  the  library  with  lagging  steps; 
I  had  no  wish  to  relate  my  experiences  of  the  after- 
noon. 

"See  what  quaint  little  brooches,  Etienne!"  I  said, 
as  he  closed  both  doors  behind  us.  "Will  you  unpin 
the  one  in  the  back  for  me,  please,  so  that  I  may  show 
you  the  scarf?"  He  did  as  I  requested,  and  I  un- 
wound it  and  held  it  up  for  him  to  admire.  "It  is 
such  a  filmy  thing,  Etienne,  it  looks  as  though  woven 
of  mist!"  and  I  tossed  it  lightly  over  my  head.  It 
fell  far  below  my  shoulders. 

"A  star  in  a  cloud,"  he  said,  gently,  "or  the  Lady 
Moon  herself!" 

I  smiled,  and  swept  a  courtesy — if  only  I  might  es- 
cape making  a  full  confession! 

"I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me,  Etienne,"  I 
said,  coaxingly.  "I  want  you  to  find  employment  for 
poor  James  Wylde,  far,  far  out  West — if  his  mother 
and  I  can  persuade  him  to  accept  it!" 

He  took  my  hand  and  raised  it  to  his  lips.  "I  am 
in  a  mood  for  granting  favors,  Theo,"  he  said. 

"What  has  happened  to  put  you  in  so  kindly  a 
humor?"  I  asked,  blushing  under  his  admiring  gaze. 

293 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"I  am  happy  because  of  your  gift,  Theo." 

"My  gift?"  I  was  indeed  puzzled.  "Do  you  mean 
this  scarf?  It  is  not  mine,  but  Mr.  Praie's."  And  I 
hastened  to  tell  him  everything  that  had  occurred, 
omitting,  of  course,  Herbert's  ill-behavior. 

"So  Praie  brought  you  this?"  Etienne  asked,  look- 
ing keenly  at  me  and  touching  the  scarf. 

"No,"  I  said,  "he  did  not  bring  it  for  me ;  he  only 
happened  to  have  it  in  his  pocket  when  he  happened 
along." 

"A  great  many  happens,"  said  Etienne,  slowly. 
"And  I  happen,  I  suppose,  to  be  happy,  Theo.  Per- 
haps I  have  no  right  to  be,  perhaps  you  did  not  intend 
to  give  me  what  I  prize  so  highly." 

"May  I  know  what  this  great  gift  is,  Etienne?"  I 
asked,  gently. 

"It  is  Hope,"  he  said. 

I  stood  silent — for  I  did  not  know  what  to  say.  My 
heart  began  to  beat  in  its  new  foolish  fashion,  my 
color  came  and  went,  I  dared  not  raise  my  eyes.  He 
came  close  to  me,  and,  putting  his  arm  around  me, 
drew  me  to  him. 

"Theo,"  he  whispered,  softly,  "Theo,  my  darling, 
did  you  mean  what  you  said  in  the  rose-garden?  You 
have  begun  to  like  me  a  little  ?  I  come  next  to  Jane 
in  your  heart?" 

"Yes — Etienne,"  I  faltered.  And  I  felt  his  lips 
upon  my  cheek. 

"May  I  come  in?"  clamored  Jane  at  the  door. 
"Herbert  says  Theo  is  in  here,  dressed  up  in  the  scarf 
of  a  fairy!" 

"Oh,  yes,"  sighed  Etienne,  resignedly.  "Come  in 
if  you  like,  little  Jane!" 


294 


XXVI 

I  thought  long  of  Herbert  that  night — and  the  more 
I  thought,  the  more  anxious  I  became.  There  had 
been  much  notice  taken  of  the  welt  across  his  face,  and 
great  curiosity  shown  as  to  how  he  had  come  by  it. 
He  had  borne  all  the  raillery  and  cross-questioning 
with  the  utmost  good-humor,  not  even  wincing  when 
a  chance  shot  went  home,  as  when  Freddy  Love  in- 
sisted that  the  mark  was  the  result  of  an  effort  to  pick 
forbidden  fruit. 

"Even  when  grapes  hang  far  above  my  head,"  Her- 
bert had  rejoined,  with  his  sunny  smile,  "I'm  not  a 
fox,  to  call  them  sour!" 

"Meaning  that  you  will  go  on  scrambling  for  them, 
Mr.  Fayne  ?"  Mrs.  Allenby  asked,  with  a  swift  glance 
at  me. 

"Yes,"  was  the  laconic  answer,  "I  shall." 

This,  being  taken  as  a  joke,  raised  a  laugh,  but  my 
heart  sank  within  me.  "What  could  I  do,  I  asked  my- 
self, if  Herbert  persisted  in  his  folly.  The  answer 
from  my  conscience  came  quickly,  "Tell  Etienne." 
Etienne,  who  had  but  just  spoken  of  his  love  for  me ! 
I  had  thought  before  that  it  would  be  easy  to  speak  to 
him  of  Herbert,  did  he  care  for  me;  and  now,  had  I 
felt  that  his  love  was  founded  upon  esteem,  I  would 
not  have  hesitated.  But  I  suspected  that  his  fancy 
had  been  taken,  when  I  was  in  my  early  teens,  only 
because  of  my  name.  As  a  Braithe  I  possessed  a 
fascination  for  a  Kappelle;  my  background  of  tradi- 
tion threw  a  glamour  around  me.  But  the  name, 
while  it  gave  me  charm  in  his  eyes,  also  did  me  a 

295 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

wrong;  for  he  knew  of  the  evil  in  the  Braithe  blood 
and  might  be  pardoned  for  suspecting,  did  I  tell  of 
Herbert's  strange  infatuation,  that  I  had  done  much 
to  increase  and  nothing  to  prevent  it. 

My  growing  affection  for  my  husband  was  founded 
upon  a  rock;  it  must  endure.  But  his  love  for  me — 
would  it  bear  so  sharp  a  test?  I  thought  not,  and  I 
hesitated  before  the  misery  of  seeing  it  die.  I  would 
put  off  the  evil  day.  Herbert's  wicked  thoughts 
would  wander  from  me  were  I  careful  to  avoid  him. 
Even  as  I  decided  upon  this  course  I  knew  it  to  be 
wrong;  but  my  besetting  sin,  my  Braithe  sin,  the 
desire  to  please,  held  me  to  it. 

Monday  was  as  depressing,  as  hot  and  muggy,  as 
had  been  the  two  preceding  days;  and  I  thought  that 
all  the  members  of  our  house-party,  save  Mr.  Carring- 
ton,  were  glad  to  leave  Braithe  Manor.  There  was 
something  a  trifle  odd  in  their  manner  when  bidding 
us  good-by ;  a  something  that  told  me  that  the  curious 
superstition  of  the  Portent  had  taken  a  strong  hold 
upon  their  imaginations.  In  the  eyes  of  all  there 
lurked  an  expression  of  uneasy  dread,  as  they  went 
through  with  the  customary  civilities  of  farewell.  It 
was  as  though  each  secretly  wondered  for  which  one 
of  our  little  family  group  Death  had  driven  the  Phan- 
tom Coach — and  those  galloping  horses — to  the  door 
of  Braithe  House.  They  all  said  good-by  so  very 
gently  to  my  little  Jane. 

Mrs.  Ainslie  had  invited  Lilian  to  spend  two  weeks 
at  Newport  with  her,  in  August.  But  even  with  this 
visit  in  prospect,  Lilian  was  in  very  low  spirits;  her 
cheeks  were  pale,  the  corners  of  her  mouth  drooped, 
and  her  pretty  forehead  was  marred  by  a  disfiguring 
frown. 

Mr.  Praie  had  given  our  guests  a  stirrup-cup,  in  the 
shape  of  cheerful  news  about  the  missing  jewels.  He 
had  assured  them  that  at  last  a  clue  had  been  found, 

296  . 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

and  that  the  lost  trinkets  would  soon  be  restored.  He 
stood,  with  Lilian,  Janey,  Herbert  and  me,  at  the  top 
of  the  steps,  seeing  the  party  off.  Etienne  went  with 
them  to  town,  for  the  day. 

"Have  you  a  clue?"  Herbert  asked,  as  the  carriages 
disappeared  down  the  avenue. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Praie,  composedly.  "Thought  I'd 
give  'em  a  good  send  off,  that's  all." 

"To  speed  the  departing  pests!"  said  Hervey,  who 
was  standing  just  behind  me. 

"The  good  riddance  of  anything  bad — rubbishy 
people,  or  any  trash — is  comforting,"  added  Janey. 

I  felt  that  we  were  rude.  "Hush,  Jane,"  I  said, 
gently.  "You  are  very  fond  of  Mrs.  Love  and  Mr. 
Carrington.  And  they  are  all  pleasant  people." 

"Why  did  they  all  go  at  once,  I  wonder,"  said  Her- 
bert, while  I  felt  Janey's  kiss  of  repentance  upon  my 
hand. 

"Rats  leaving  a  sinking  ship,"  said  Lilian,  morosely, 
then  cried  out  in  terror,  as  a  large  black  spider  sud- 
denly appeared  crawling  upon  her  shoulder.  "Kill  it, 
kill  it!"  she  shrieked,  as,  quicker  than  the  others,  I 
knocked  it  off  with  my  fan.  Shuddering — for  I  dis- 
like killing  anything — I  complied.  "A  death's-head 
spider!"  moaned  Lilian  (it  had  had  the  odd  markings 
of  skull  and  cross  bones  upon  its  bloated  back),  "and 
you  were  fool  enough  to  kill  it,  Theo  Braithe.  It's 
not  nine  yet,  hours  from  noon. 

'Araignee  au  matin,  chagrin/* 

You'll  have  bad  luck  all  day  long." 

"Why,  you  told  her  to  kill  it — "  Janey  began, 
when  Mr.  Praie  interrupted  her: 

"Pardon  me,"  he  said,  "but  I  don't  understand  that 
lingo.  Will  someone  kindly  explain?" 

Herbert  answered  him.  "This  is  a  French  super- 
297 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

stition,"  he  said,  with  a  contemptuous  glance  toward 
Lilian.  "Kill  a  spider  in  the  morning,  vexation;  at 
noon,  pleasure;  in  the  evening,  hope.  I  mean  to 
smash  mine  at  night  every  time,  for  I'm  in  need  of 
hope,  badly,"  and  he  looked  at  me. 

I  avoided  him  all  that  day,  and,  thanks  to  Mr.  Praie, 
who  seemed  unable  to  get  along  without  him,  I  man- 
aged to  do  so  easily.  I  wondered  that  the  detectives 
remained  at  Braithe  (the  policeman  from  Hilltown 
had  gone  home),  but  they  hung  about  the  house,  as 
idle  a  pair  of  men  as  one  might  see.  Mr.  Praie  spent 
most  of  his  time  burning  incense  under  Herbert's 
handsome  nose.  And,  although  Herbert  showed 
openly  that  he  found  the  little  man  in  the  way,  I 
could  see  that  the  detective's  flattery  pleased  him. 

I  was  in  my  oratory  that  afternoon  when  there  came 
a  peremptory  tap  on  the  panel,  and,  sliding  it  aside 
before  I  could  rise  from  my  knees,  Lilian  entered.  I 
stared  at  her  in  surprise,  for  she  was  already  dressed 
for  dinner,  and  in  a  wonderful  toilet,  considering  that, 
save  for  Herbert  and  the  two  detectives,  we  were  quite 
alone.  She  wore  a  gown  of  exquisite  white  lace,  over 
pale  lilac.  Around  her  slender  waist  a  belt  of  shim- 
mering lilac  satin  ribbon,  with  long  streamers.  In 
one  hand  she  carried  three  red  roses;  in  the  other  her 
fetich,  the  little  New  Testament  bound  in  red  morocco. 

In  spite  of  her  becoming  frock,  she  did  not  look  so 
pretty  as  usual.  Her  cheeks  were  very  pale,  and  her 
eyelids  red  and  swollen.  Because  of  this,  and  of  her 
having  entered  my  sanctum  uninvited,  the  sight  of 
the  fetich  alarmed  me.  I  had  not  been  sworn  to 
secrecy  in  several  weeks,  and  I  wondered  what  trouble 
was  a-f  oot. 

"Come  out  of  this  dismal  hole,  Theo,"  she  said, 
imperiously.  "But  no,  stay  where  you  are,  on  your 
knees  before  the  cross,  and  swear  that  you'll  never 
breathe  to  a  soul  what  I'm  going  to  tell  you." 

298 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

As  she  spoke  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and,  al- 
though I  knew  these  to  be  but  tears  of  self  pity — 
Lilian  wept  over  her  own  sorrows  only — I  remained 
kneeling  upon  my  prie-dieu  as  she  desired.  Her 
trouble  was  real  enough  to  her. 

"You  needn't  be  afraid,"  she  went  on,  "for  the 
grocer  and  the  brat  aren't  in  it  Now  then 
swear." 

I  took  my  oath. 

"I  don't  believe  you  care  for  me  one  bit,"  she  whim- 
pered, as  we  entered  my  dressing-room.  "I  don't  be- 
lieve you'd  even  dress  for  dinner  to  please  me ;  or  have 
that  beast  of  a  dog  stay  with  Jane  to-night,  so  that  I 
can  talk  things  over  with  you  in  peace  without  his 
racketing  about!" 

In  order  to  quiet  her  nerves,  I  let  her  choose  my 
gown,  and  promised  that  Charles  Stuart  should  be  ab- 
sent for  the  night.  I  was  surprised  when,  after  toss- 
ing over  all  my  frocks,  she  selected  one  of  black  satin 
that  she  had  always  disliked.  It  was  very  simply 
made,  the  only  trimming  being  a  fall  of  rich  black 
lace  around  the  low  corsage. 

"I  thought  you — "  I  began,  but  she  interrupted  me 
hastily. 

"Yes,  I  know,  but  Etienne  hates  to  see  you  in  black, 
and  I  want  a  real  proof  of  your  affection.  Besides, 
this  shining  stuff  is  becoming,  and  black  throws  up 
the  whiteness  of  your  shoulders.  The  long  train 
suits  you,  too.  Tell  Josette  to  dress  your  hair  low, 
and  to  stick  one  of  these  roses  in  it;  wear  the  others 
high  up  on  your  corsage,  so  that  they  rest  against  your 
velvety  skin " 

"O  Lilian!"  I  remonstrated. 

"They  make  it  look  like  snow — I  heard  someone 
say  so,"  she  said,  looking  at  me  oddly.  "And  be  sure 
that  you  tie  a  narrow  band  of  black  velvet  around  your 
throat — to  increase  the  snow  effect." 

299 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

I  frowned,  indignant;  but  before  I  could  speak,  she 
flung  her  arms  about  me,  and  kissed  my  cheek. 

"I'm  in  such  trouble,"  she  whispered,  "such  awful 
trouble,  Theo ! — but  you'll  pull  me  through." 

"If  I  can,"  I  said,  gently,  although  no  longer  antici- 
pating anything  serious,  since  she  could  spare  so  much 
thought  on  a  trifle  like  dress.  "Is  it  about  Mr.  Car- 
rington  ?"  I  hazarded. 

"Yes,"  she  sobbed,  "and  unless  you — or  the  Death 
Coach — help  me  out,  I  might  better  not  have  been 
born." 

"The  Death  Coach?"  I  repeated.  "I  wish  you'd 
forget  that  nonsense,  Lilian." 

She  drew  back,  staring  at  me  strangely. 

"Before  the  clock  strikes  twelve  to-night,"  she  said, 
in  an  awed  whisper,  "a  Braithe  will  die."  She  stepped 
forward,  and  grasping  my  arm,  drew  me  into  the  little 
cell  we  had  just  left;  then,  pointing  to  the  ivory  cross, 
she  continued,  solemnly,  "If,  by  midnight,  a  new  devil 
has  been  added  to  the  legions  in  hell,  I  will  believe  in 
that  emblem  and  all  that  it  stands  for."  And  before 
I  could  speak,  could  say  a  word  in  remonstrance,  she 
ran  lightly  away. 

Her  allusion  to  the  Phantom  Coach  told  me  that 
Herbert  was  at  the  bottom  of  her  trouble,  and  I  feared 
that  he  must  have  managed  to  interfere  seriously  be- 
tween her  and  Mr.  Carrington.  How  he  had  contrived 
to  bring  her  into  such  a  state  of  subjection  I  could  not 
imagine,  rack  my  brains  as  I  might;  but  I  felt  very 
much  ashamed  of  my  own  cowardice  in  not  having 
told  Etienne  of  his  mischief -making  qualities.  I  tried 
to  make  up  my  mind  to  tell  just  what  I  had  but  a  few 
hours  before  decided  to  keep  to  myself;  but,  as  I  was 
putting  the  roses  Lilian  had  given  me  into  water,  she 
hastily  re-entered  the  room  and  unconsciously  vetoed 
my  good  intentions.  She  still  had  the  Testament  in 
her  hand,  and  held  it  out  toward  me  as  she  said: 

300 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"Swear  that  you  won't  tell  Etienne  anything — not 
even  about  wearing  that  gown  to  please  me." 

I  refused  to  take  my  oath  again,  but  consented  to 
keeping  even  that  trifle  a  secret. 

"I  want  you  to  meet  me  here  at  ten  sharp,  Theo." 

"Very  well,  Lilian,"  I  said,  resignedly. 

"You  won't  let  Rappelle  keep  you  late  in  the 
library?  Don't  tell  him  I  want  you.  Swear  you 
won't,  Theo!" 

Her  lips  had  grown  suddenly  ashen;  she  looked  ill. 
I  hastened  to  give  my  promise  to  do  all  I  could  for 
her,  and  her  pretty  color  swept  back;  she  even  smiled 
as  she  left  the  room. 

"One  in  the  eye  for  the  grocer  this  time!"  she  called 
back,  softly,  over  her  shoulder,  and  again  I  felt  that 
I  had  been  unnecessarily  alarmed. 

Herbert  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase 
when  I  went  down  to  dinner.  I  paused,  looking 
doubtfully  at  him,  when  I  reached  the  lowest  step,  my 
hand  upon  the  head  of  the  Leopard  that,  erect  upon 
its  haunches,  the  family  shield  clasped  close  to  its 
breast,  served  as  newel  post.  He  surveyed  me  as 
closely,  and  smiled  sadly,  as  if  what  he  saw  pleased, 
yet  hurt  him. 

"Theo,"  he  said,  gravely,  "I've  been  hoping  for  a 
word  with  you  all  day,  but  you  have — I  fear  purposely 
— avoided  me.  I  want  to  ask  your  forgiveness.  I 
have  behaved  shamefully.  I  beg  your  pardon." 

He  spoke  with  great  earnestness;  his  voice,  his  atti- 
tude, expressed  deep  contrition.  I  was  almost  con- 
vinced that  he  meant  what  he  said. 

"You  don't  believe  me,  I  see,"  he  continued,  com- 
ing close  to  the  mahogany  Leopard,  and  dropping  his 
voice  to  a  mere  whisper,  "but  you  may.  I  am  going 
away  from  here  very  soon,  only  I  beg  that  you  will  not 
tell  anyone;  Praie  insists  upon  my  seeing  this  affair 
out — you  understand?" 

301 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

I  nodded.     I  thought  I  did. 

"I  won't  pretend  I  don't  care  for  you,"  he  went  on, 
"for  I  do,  but  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  do  the  only 
thing  that's  left  for  me — I'll  leave  Braithe." 

I  remained  silent,  not  knowing  what  to  say. 

"I  shall  never  forget  you  as  you  look  now,  standing 
on  the  dear  old  staircase,  in  your  trailing  satin,  with 
those  red  roses  on  your  breast — "  He  broke  off  as 
though  something  choked  him,  and,  in  spite  of  my- 
self, I  began  to  make  allowances. 

I  thought  of  his  untrained  boyhood,  the  lack  of  good 
counsel,  and  of  his  Braithe  blood  urging  him  toward 
evil.  I  remembered  how  hard  it  must  have  been  for 
him  to  return  to  the  old  home  he  so  loved,  and  see  it  in 
the  possession  of  a  stranger — and  that  stranger  the 
descendant  of  a  former  servant  of  the  House.  Then 
I  suddenly  realized  how  little  I  had  done  to  make 
things  easier  for  him,  too  much  absorbed  in  my  own 
affairs  to  trouble  myself  about  my  cousin's.  I  ought 
to  have  interested  myself  in  his  life — how  shamefully 
ignorant  of  his  past  I  was — to  have  given  him  the  Tielp 
that  women  owe  to  their  near  kinsmen;  but  I  had 
thought  only  of  myself — -and  of  Etienne. 

In  short,  I  became  so  busy  upbraiding  myself,  that  I 
began  to  think  that  I  was  the  most  in  fault.  "I  am  so 
sorry,  Bertie,"  I  faltered,  the  old  nickname  slipping 
unconsciously  from  my  lips.  "I'm  afraid  that  I've 
not  made  your  visit  what  it  should  have  been.  I've 
been  thoughtless,  selfish " 

"Hush,  Theo,"  he  said,  softly;  "I  can't  let  you  talk 
such  nonsense  as  that !  If  you'll  just  say  you  forgive 
me " 

"I  do,"  I  cried,  hastily;  "I  forgive  you  with  all  my 
heart." 

He  bent  his  head  and  kissed  the  hand  on  the 
Leopard. 

"I've  even  been  unjust  to  Rappelle,"  he  said,  his 
302 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

eyes  upon  the  ruby  that  glowed  upon  my  finger,  "pre- 
tending to  myself  that  he  treated  you  meanly,  when 
that  ring  alone  would  prove  me  in  the  wrong." 

I  thought  that  he  had  chosen  a  poor  place  as  con- 
fessional, at  the  foot  of  the  staircase  in  the  central 
hall,  and  so  went  on  to  the  drawing-room,  which  I 
knew  must  be  empty. 

"It  is  a  beautiful  ruby,"  I  said,  pausing  in  front  of 
the  fireplace  over  which  hung  my  portrait,  with  the 
miniature  of  the  Scotch  countess,  as  pendant,  "as 
handsome  of  its  kind  as  the  Gypsy's  Opal,"  and  I 
sighed. 

"A  pigeon-blood  ruby,  a  remarkably  fine  one," 
Herbert  continued,  meditatively.  "It  must  have 
cost  a  small  fortune.  Do  you  miss  your  opal, 
Theo?" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  shortly.  I  did  not  care  to  talk  about 
its  loss. 

"I've  made  poor  Lilian's  life  a  burden  over  it,"  he 
went  on,  "and  I'm  sorry.  Indeed,  I've  worried  her 
too  much  lately,  but  I'll  make  it  up  to  her — if  you'll 
help  me,  Theo?" 

"Help  you,  Herbert?"  I  said,  surprised.  "I  don't 
see  how  I  can  help  you  with  Lilian,  but  in  any  other 
way,  should  you  need  help,  I  will  give  it  gladly." 

"Thank  you,  Theodora— Gift  of  God!"  he  said, 
gently.  "I  believe  there's  no  mean  Braithe  blood  in 
you.  Lydia  used  to  say  that  you  were  the  reincarna- 
tion of  your  double  there,"  he  pointed  at  the  mina- 
ture,  "and  I  half  believe  she  was  right.  When  you 
struck  me  with  your  fan  yesterday " 

"O  Herbert!"  I  cried,  in  remonstrance. 

"I  thought  of  Lydia,"  he  went  on,  not  heeding  my 
effort  to  stop  him,  "thought  of  her  so  suddenly,  and 
intensely,  it  almost  seemed  as  though  she  looked  at 
me  over  your  shoulder."  He  laughed  oddly.  "I 
felt  uncanny  for  a  minute,"  he  said,  "as  if  you  and 

303 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

the  countess  were  one — and  that  Lydia  had  come  to 
tell  me  so!" 

"Listen!"  I  cried,  interrupting  him.  "Do  I  hear 
wheels?  It  must  be  Etienne,"  and  I  moved  toward 
the  door. 

"One  moment,  Theo,"  said  Herbert,  hastily. 
"Don't  speak  of  my  going,  even  to  Rappelle,  please." 

I  nodded,  to  show  that  I  understood,  and  running 
into  the  hall,  greeted  Etienne  as  he  entered.  His 
stern  face  grew  bright  with  pleasure  at  sight  of  me. 

"You  look  like  a  gay  Spanish  girl,  with  that  red 
rose  in  your  dark  hair,"  he  said,  smiling.  "Come  into 
the  library  and  see  what  I've  brought  you  from  town." 

He  put  a  jewel  box  in  my  hands  when  the  doors 
were  closed  behind  us,  and  watched  me,  as  one  watches 
a  child  receiving  a  new  toy,  while  I  opened  it  and 
cried  out  in  delight  over  what  I  found  there. 

"How  lovely!"  I  exclaimed,  taking  out  a  sparkling 
diamond  heart  and  looking  at  it  admiringly.  "How 
kind  of  you  to  get  it  for  me — but  how  extravagant!" 

"Nonsense!"  he  said,  gayly.  "If  I  may  not  buy 
my  wife  baubles,  I  shall  think  myself  hardly  used. 
May  I  clasp  it  around  your  throat?"  He  took  the 
slender  chain,  adjusted  and  fastened  it — then  I  felt 
his  lips  upon  my  shoulder.  I  turned  quickly,  paling, 
my  heart  beating  wildly.  "I  beg  your  pardon,"  he 
said,  slowly.  "I  thought  I  had  more  self-control." 

He  looked  at  me  steadily,  but  his  face  was  as  color- 
less as  my  own ;  and  I  saw  that  he  was  greatly  moved. 
I  held  out  both  hands  to  him,  laughing  a  little. 

"O  Etienne,  Etienne!"  I  said,  "I  am  not  angry. 
What  a  foolish  man  you  are!" 

He  drew  me  to  him,  looking  earnestly  into  my  eyes, 
as  if  he  would  read  my  inmost  thoughts;  but  he  did 
not  speak. 

"I  am  so  pleased  with  my  new  trinket,"  I  said, 
quickly.  "You  are  too  good  to  me,  Etienne!" 

304 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"Tell  me  why  it  pleases  you  better  than  anything 
I  have  ever  given  you  before?"  he  asked.  "I  can  see 
that  it  does." 

I  was  very  much  embarrassed — my  heart  was  so 
tiresome  in  its  persistent,  unaccountable  throbbing — 
and  I  felt  strangely  shy — a  new  sensation  for  me. 

"Well,  you  know,"  I  faltered,  "we  have  grown  such 
great  friends  now,  you  and  I." 

He  put  his  arm  around  me,  and,  placing  a  hand 
under  my  chin,  gently  tilted  my  face  upward,  the  bet- 
ter to  look  into  my  eyes.  But  I  let  my  eyelids  fall. 

"And  before,  I  was  a  stranger,  Theo?" 

"Yes,"  I  murmured. 

"And,  as  such,  my  gifts  annoyed  you?" 

"Yes,  Etienne." 

"You  felt  degraded  when  you  wore  them?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"O  Etienne,  please " 

"Answer,  Theo." 

"Yes,"  I  whispered,  flushing  and  paling  by  turns 
under  this  strange  inquisition,  and  unable  to  find  any 
graceful  words  in  which  to  clothe  the  unpleasant  truth. 

"You  are  glad  that  your  jewels  were  stolen,  child?" 

"No,  no,"  I  said,  hastily;  "I  miss  them  dreadfully, 
Etienne." 

His  arm  tightened  around  me — I  feared  he  might 
feel  the  beating  of  my  heart.  "I  am  not  your  friend, 
but  your  lover,"  he  whispered.  "Will  you  wear  the 
diamond  heart?" 

"Yes— Etienne." 

"Willingly,  Theo?" 

The  power  of  speech  left  me.  I  glanced  up  at  him 
for  one  fleeting  instant. 

"I  love  you,"  he  cried,  with  sudden  passion.  "I 
love  you  with  all  my  heart  and  soul!"  And  he  kissed 
me  on  the  lips. 

The  door  was  gently  opened  on  the  merest  crack,  and 
305 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BBAITHE 

Hervey's  voice,  in  melancholy  cadences,  floated 
through  it  announcing  dinner. 

"Go  dress  for  dinner,  Etienne,"  I  said,  nervously. 
"You  will  be  very  late." 

Unwillingly,  he  released  me.  "Merle  will  soon  be- 
come my  bete  noir!"  he  said,  with  a  humorous  smile. 
"I  shan't  see  you  again  this  evening,  Theo,  for  those 
men  will  want  to  talk  to  me  after  dinner." 

"They  have  no  fresh  clue,"  I  said,  moving  toward 
the  door.  "Mr.  Praie  told  Herbert  so  this  morning. 
I  have  asked  them  to  dine  with  us,  now  our  guests 
have  gone." 

"Quite  right,  Theo,"  he  said,  approvingly;  but  I 
knew  that  at  that  moment  he  would  have  approved  as 
heartily  had  I  done  the  opposite.  And  I  was  happy 
because  of  this. 

Lilian's  behavior  at  dinner  increased  my  serenity  of 
mind,  for  she  seemed  to  be  on  excellent  terms  with 
Herbert;  and  I  fancied  that  while  I  had  been  in  the 
library  with  Etienne  he  had  made  his  peace  with  her. 
She  laid  herself  out  to  be  agreeable  to  everyone;  ad- 
miring my  diamond  heart,  and  paying  such  flattering 
attention  to  Mr.  Praie  and  his  colleague  that  their 
heads  appeared  to  be  quite  turned. 

Etienne  smiled  at  me  from  his  place  opposite ;  Her- 
bert treated  me  with  the  respectful  consideration  of 
an  affectionate  cousin;  Lilian's  difficulties  were,  ap- 
parently, at  an  end.  I  was  so  happy,  so  very,  very 
happy,  that  I  felt  a  trifle  awed.  From  childhood  I 
had  been  unaccustomed  to  such  a  feeling.  The  ease 
of  heart  that  comes  from  a  peaceful  home  environ- 
ment had  never  been  mine.  As  I  sat  silent,  too  happy 
for  speech,  Mr.  Praie  suddenly  addressed  me. 

"I  got  a  line  from  that  palmist  feller  to-day,  Mrs. 
Rappelle,  saying  he  hopes  the  scarf  has  pleased  the 
person  for  whom  it  was  intended."  I  looked  at  the 
little  man  inquiringly.  "He  meant  it  for  you,"  Mr. 

306 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

Praie  continued,  nodding  his  head  at  me ;  "said  so  in 
his  letter.  I'm  glad  to  be  rid  of  it;  too  strong  of 
sandal- wood  for  me !  Your  wife  must  keep  it  now," 
he  turned  to  Etienne,  "mustn't  she,  sir?" 

"I  think  she  will  be  glad  to,"  was  the  smiling  an- 
swer. 

I  was  pleased,  but  I  wondered  a  little  over  the 
palmist's  strange  ways.  He  must  have  left  Braithe 
that  same  evening,  Saturday  evening,  I  thought.  I 
asked  Etienne  if  this  were  so.  He  looked  at  me  oddly 
for  an  instant,  but  Mr.  Praie  replied  before  he  had 
time  to  answer. 

"Off  at  once — after  the  seeance,"  he  said,  cheer- 
fully, "but  where  he  is  now,  Lord  knows!  No  date 
to  his  letter,  and  postmark  too  blurred  to  read.  He's 
a  queer  lot,  that  feller;  but  mighty  sharp,  I  can  tell 
you!" 

"Not  a  patch  on  you,  Praie!"  said  Herbert,  all 
irony  carefully  kept  from  his  voice,  his  eyes  cast  down. 

"By  the  side  of  that  palmist  feller,"  said  Mr.  Praie, 
with  sudden  gravity,  "I'm  the  veriest  fool  alive." 

As  I  rose  to  leave  the  room  it  was  the  little  detective 
who  got  first  to  the  door,  and  bowed  me  out  as  though 
I  had  been  a  queen.  I  smiled  at  him  kindly ;  I  liked 
him  very  much,  because  of  his  good  heart.  When  the 
men  came  into  the  drawing-room  later,  he  chose  to 
sit  near  me. 

"The  moon  has  left  us,"  I  said,  lightly,  "and  to- 
night even  the  stars  have  disappeared,  so  drinking  our 
coffee  on  the  portico  is  not  to  be  thought  of — yet  it 
is  far  pleasanter  out  there."  I  rose  and  stepped 
through  the  long  window  nearest  me  as  I  spoke. 

It  was  as  I  had  said;  the  stars  were  blotted  out  by 
heavy  vapor,  while  across  the  river  occasional  flashes 
of  heat-lightning  against  the  horizon  line  made  the 
gloom  that  followed  but  the  deeper.  The  night,  like 
the  day,  was  hot  and  muggy.  I  was  glad  of  my  low- 

307 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

cut  bodice,  and  wished  that  Lilian  had  chosen  a  thinner 
evening  gown  for  me.  I  sank  into  a  low  chair  near 
the  edge  of  the  portico,  and  began  to  fan  myself 
slowly.  Then,  as  the  scent  of  sandal-wood  floated 
from  the  palmist's  gift,  I  remembered  Mr.  Praie'9 
dislike  of  the  odor,  and  furled  it  gently. 

"You  never  forget  other  people's  tastes — or  feel- 
ings, Mrs.  Rappelle,"  he  said,  soberly.  "And  you 
may  bet  your  life  that  some  of  us  will  take  care  that 
yours  are  remembered!  There's  going  to  be  a  big 
storm  before  the  night  is  over — see  that  lightning 
yonder? — and  may  I  be  awake  to  see!" 


308 


XXVH 

I  would  gladly  have  lingered  late  on  the  portico,  as 
Braithe  House  promised  to  be  too  hot  for  comfort  that 
night,  notwithstanding  the  thickness  of  its  old  stone 
walls,  the  height  of  its  ceilings,  and  the  size  of  its  rooms. 
But,  remembering  my  promise  to  Lilian,  I  said  good- 
night when  the  clock  struck  ten,  and  went  upstairs. 
Although  convinced  that  her  trouble  was  at  an  end, 
since  she  and  Herbert  seemed  to  be  on  friendly  terms 
at  last,  I  hoped  that  she  might  still  have  something  to 
confide.  I  wanted  to  hear  of  the  happy  ending  of  her 
love  story — to  learn  that  she  was  about  to  become  en- 
gaged to  my  favorite,  Mr.  Carrington. 

She  left  the  drawing-room  with  me  and  followed 
me,  in  silence,  up  the  staircase  to  my  dressing-room 
door. 

"Send  Josette  away,"  she  whispered,  pausing  at 
the  threshold.  "Tell  her  you  won't  want  her  to-night 
— that's  she  not  to  hang  around.  Make  her  under- 
stand this,  Theo." 

I  looked  at  her  in  pained  surprise,  for  her  face  was 
drawn  and  haggard.  Her  pretty  smiles,  and  the  air 
of  girlish  light-heartedness,  of  careless  gayety,  that 
she  had  worn  at  dinner,  had  vanished. 

"Is  something  still  the  matter?"  I  asked,  anxiously. 
"I  thought  that  you  and  Herbert  were  on  good  terms 
again,  that " 

"Theo  Braithe,"  she  interrupted,  in  a  fierce  under- 
tone, "you're  by  turns  the  cleverest  and  the  most 
idiotic  woman  alive!  Come  to  my  room  in  half  an 
hour,  do  you  hear?  Send  Josette  away  for  the  night, 

309 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

and  come  just  as  you  are.  Do  you  understand?  Yes? 
If  you  didn't  want  to  be  up  to  your  neck  in  misery, 
why  did  you  kill  that  spider  this  morning?  I  begged 
you  not!"  And  she  swept  away  to  her  room. 

I  did  as  she  wished,  dismissing  my  little  maid,  and 
waiting  the  required  half  hour.  When  this  had 
elapsed,  I  went,  with  lagging  steps,  along  the  gallery, 
ashamed  of  my  unwillingness  to  listen  to  what  I  be- 
lieved would  prove  to  be  but  a  fretful  outburst  of 
childish  complaints.  Upon  entering  her  room,  I 
found  that  she  had  already  exchanged  her  costly  toilet 
for  a  white  peignoir,  and  her  pretty  fair  hair  rippled 
over  her  shoulders.  She  closed  and  locked  the  door 
carefully  after  me,  and  led  me  to  the  lounge  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  well  in  the  centre  of  the  room. 

"There's  one  thing  I  want  to  say  first,"  she  began, 
speaking  beneath  her  breath,  as  though  in  fear  of  be- 
ing overheard,  "and  that  is  that  I  won't  be  reproached 
and  vituperated.  What's  done  is  done,  and  I  can't 
help  it.  I'm  in  awful  trouble."  The  corners  of  her 
pretty  mouth  turned  down,  she  looked  very  childish 
and  helpless.  "Carrington  has  proposed." 

"Lilian !"  I  exclaimed,  smiling  and  much  relieved. 
"Is  that  all?  What  a  foolish  girl  you  are !  I  thought 
you  liked  him  so  much.  Have  you  changed  your 
mind?" 

"Like  him?"  she  cried,  fiercely,  "why,  you  fool,  I 
love  him — like,  indeed!" 

"Then  what  are  you  fretting  over?"  I  demanded. 
"He  is  a  charming  fellow — why  not  say  yes  at  once? 
I  congratulate  you,  dear."  I  took  her  hand  and 
would  have  kissed  her,  but  she  pushed  me  away,  and, 
springing  to  her  feet,  began  to  pace  the  floor.  And 
as  I  watched  her  lithe,  free  movements,  I  thought  of 
the  Leopards  of  the  House. 

"Say  yes?"  she  repeated,  in  a  passionate  undertone, 
pouring  out  her  words  as  though  they  had  been  pent 

310 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

up  for  months,  and  now  escaped  her  fevered  lips 
almost  without  her  volition.  "Say  yes  at  once?  I 
wish  to  God  I  might.  I  did  almost  as  much,  for  I 
asked  for  two  weeks  to  think  it  over!  Like  an  idiot 
I  counted  on  the  Death  Coach  to  pull  me  through. 
In  three  days,  I  thought,  in  only  three  days'  time  I 
shall  know  who  is  summoned;  perhaps  I  myself,"  she 
shuddered,  "and  perhaps  that  devil !  But  I  reckoned 
without  thought  of  his  cunning;  I  might  have  known 
he'd  manage  to  use  me  up  to  the  very  last " 

"Who,  Lilian?"  I  asked,  interrupting.  "Whom  do 
you  fear?" 

"Who,  you  fool?"  she  echoed,  passionately.  "Her- 
bert Fayne,  of  course." 

"I'm  tired  of  this  nonsense,"  I  said,  severely.  "I 
can't  understand  why  Herbert  is  of  any  importance  to 
you.  Why  do  you  allow  him  to  interfere  between  you 
and  Mr.  Carrington.  He  is  nothing  but  a  cousin " 

She  held  up  her  hand,  imposing  silence.  She  came 
close  to  me.  "I  am  his  wife,"  she  said. 

I  broke  the  long  stillness  that  fell  upon  the  room 
with  no  questions.  Before  many  seconds  had  passed, 
I  felt  that  I  had  known  this  blighting  secret  for  a 
dreary  length  of  years.  At  last  Lilian  spoke  again: 

"It  was  all  the  fault  of  that  old  wretch  who  played 
fast  and  loose  with  us,"  she  said,  and  I  knew  that  she 
alluded  to  her  great-uncle.  "He  swore  at  first  that 
Bertie  should  have  the  money,  because  he  was  the 
grandson  of  his  friend.  And  then  that  I  must,  be- 
cause I  was  his  grand-niece.  By  and  by  Herbert  sug- 
gested that  we  might  marry  (he  knew  a  lawyer  who'd 
do  it  for  him  on  the  sly),  and  so  both  get  the  fortune. 
We  did — and  lost." 

I  roused  myself  from  the  mental  inertia  that  had 
settled  upon  me  like  an  evil  mist.  This  dreadful 
revelation,  following  so  swiftly  upon  the  hour  of  my 
happiness,  had  deadened  all  my  senses.  I  was  the 

311 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

eldest;  I  must  be  the  one  to  rid  Lilian  of  her  self- 
inflicted  burden.  It  was  for  me  to  act. 

"Take  courage,  Lilian,"  I  said,  and  my  voice  had 
an  odd,  weary  inflection,  despite  my  effort  to  speak 
cheeringly.  "Herbert  will  release  you;  and  Carring- 
ton,  knowing  that  you  were  under  age,  and  that  it  was 
no  real  marriage,  only  a  legal  ceremony — "  I  hesi- 
tated, my  words  died  upon  my  lips.  For  again  she 
had  paused  in  her  walk,  close  before  me ;  and  her  ex- 
pression was  so  strange  that  it  shocked  me  into 
silence. 

"Legal  ceremony — no  real  marriage!"  she  repeated, 
sneering  contempt  vibrating  in  every  tone  of  her  sweet 
voice.  "For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  talk  that  rot  to  me ! 
I'm  sick  of  him,  and  I  hate  him  like  poison,  but  I  was 
half  in  love  with  him  then,  and  willing  enough  to  be 
his  wife.  All  the  girls  wanted  him,  and  I  got  him — 
and  I  wish  to  the  Lord  he'd  died  first !  There,  there's 
nothing  to  be  shocked  about — I  don't  mean  to  make  a 
row  getting  a  divorce.  All  I  ask  is  to  be  allowed  to 
destroy  that  hateful  certificate — and  my  silly  letters — 
and  have  Herbert  let  me  alone.  Then  it  will  all  be  as 
if  it  had  never  happened,  and  I  can  marry  Carring- 
ton,  and  be  happy!" 

She  looked  so  like  the  portrait  of  the  Lady  Sophia 
as  she  spoke,  so  hard  and  cold,  so  brazen  even,  that, 
remembering  the  wicked  career  of  our  common  ances- 
tress, and  realizing  that  my  fair-haired  sister  was  be- 
ginning already  to  follow  in  her  footsteps,  I  was  over- 
powered by  a  feeling  of  repulsion,  of  disgust.  I  rose, 
and  going  to  the  window  leaned  out  into  the  night. 
I  longed  for  a  sight  of  the  heavens;  for  a  breath  of 
pure  air  in  my  face ;  Lilian's  confession  had,  somehow, 
tainted  even  the  atmosphere  of  the  room.  But  there 
was  no  night  breeze  bringing  refreshment,  no  cheer- 
ing sparkle  of  stars;  instead,  a  pall-like  blackness 
over  everything,  and  a  deadness  in  the  air  that  stifled 

312 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

me.  Suddenly,  as  I  gazed  into  nothingness,  the 
gloom  outside  was  dissipated  by  a  flash  of  heat-light- 
ning; the  pale,  uncanny  flare  illuminating  the  broad 
lawn  with  its  elms  and  sycamores,  and  showing  me  the 
figure  of  a  man  lurking  near  the  great  tulip  tree  op- 
posite the  window.  I  turned  back  into  the  room. 

"There  is  someone  on  the  lawn,  just  across  the  road, 
under  the  tulip  tree,  Lilian,"  I  said,  softly.  "Does 
Herbert  know  what  you  are  doing?" 

Before  I  had  finished  speaking  she  had  gripped  my 
arm  nervously,  gasping,  "My  God!  have  they  come 
already  ?" 

"Who,  Lilian?"  I  asked.  But  without  stopping  to 
answer,  she  dragged  me  back  to  the  window,  and  stood 
peering  out,  with  frightened  eyes. 

"The  air  is  damp,"  she  said,  in  high,  unnatural 
tones,  as  though  wishing1  to  be  overheard ;  "I'll  draw 
in  the  blinds."  And  she  leaned  from  the  window. 

Again  the  lightning,  playing  along  the  horizon, 
made  every  object  visible;  the  stretch  of  lawn,  the 
Leopards  of  the  gate,  the  lines  of  locust  trees  beyond. 
But  the  man  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Lilian  closed 
the  blinds  softly,  then  turned  an  ashen  face  toward 
me. 

"Could  it  have  been  Herbert  himself?"  she  said. 
"But  no,  he  dare  not  leave  the  house " 

"Why  not?"  I  interrupted. 

"The  police,"  she  whispered.  "He  was  warned 
this  morning.  Oh,  why  do  you  stare  at  me  like  that, 
as  if  you'd  lost  your  wits,  Theo  Braithe  ?" 

"Lilian,"  I  began,  imperiously,  though  my  lips 
trembled.  But  she  drew  me  from  the  window  before 
I  could  speak  further. 

"Listen,"  she  said,  softly,  "and,  for  God's  sake, 
don't  faint,  or  lose  your  nerve.  They're  after  Her- 
bert, and  he's  got  to  get  away,  and  you'll  have  to 
manage  it.  Don't  look  as  if  you  didn't  understand  1 

313 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

Through  the  By-Ways.  You  are  the  one  who  holds 
their  secrets.  You  are  the  Head." 

"What  has  he  done?"  I  asked.  My  lips  felt  sud- 
denly parched,  I  spoke  with  an  effort;  for  I  knew 
that  whatever  it  might  be,  I  must,  as  Lilian  had  said, 
help  him.  It  was  only  by  helping  him  that  I  might 
hope  to  protect  her. 

"I  told  him  that  he  needn't  count  upon  you,"  Lilian 
continued,  paying  no  attention  to  my  question,  "for 
that  you  thought  the  old  traditions  nonsense.  But  he 
said  they'd  hold  you  now.  He  was  in  a  tight  place, 
he  said,  and  you'd  show  your  blood  and  pull  him 
through." 

"What  has  he  done?"  I  repeated,  coldly. 

"Forged — stolen — done  everything  he  shouldn't, 
the  selfish  wretch!" 

"Forged— stolen,"  I  said,  faintly,  "O  Lilian!" 

"He  says  if  you'll  get  him  out  of  Braithe  before 
midnight,"  she  went  on,  "he'll  give  me  my  marriage 
certificate — I  let  him  keep  it,  like  a  fool — and  all  my 
letters  (I  wrote  him  silly  love-sick  ones,  at  first),  and 
never  trouble  me  any  more.  But" — she  paused  a 
moment,  looking  like  a  wild  thing  at  bay — "if  he's 
caught,  he'll  clamor  for  me.  And  my  letters  will 
be  published  in  every  yellow  journal  in  the  country! 
Theo,"  she  flung  herself  at  my  feet  in  an  agony  of 
fear,  "Theo,  help  me!  Don't  let  Carrington  hear! 
He  will — will  despise  me.  O  Theo,  Theo,  I  wish  Her- 
bert was  dead!" 

I  could  not  speak;  despair  had  made  me  dumb. 
For  I  thought  of  Etienne,  to  whom  dishonor  was 
brought  so  near,  because  of  me.  His  wife's  first  cousin 
a  forger,  a  thief!  Yes,  Herbert  must  escape;  must 
carry  his  dreadful  secret  away  with  him,  and — but 
no,  he  could  not  take  it  from  Lilian,  or  me.  We  must 
keep  it  always;  must  lie  down  with  it,  get  up  with  it, 
feel  it  upon  our  hearts  forever!  I  sighed  heavily,  the 

314 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

burden  of  it  already  weighed  me  down.  Tears  had 
come  to  Lilian,  bringing  relief;  she  began  to  speak 
more  quietly. 

"If  you'd  had  the  sense  to  read  the  letter  father  left 
for  you,  you'd  have  been  able  to  help  me  before. 
That  told  me  of  Herbert's  having  forged.  It  was  his 
forgery  that  cut  him  out  of  uncle's  will — and  my 
marrying  him  that  ruined  me.  The  old  man  found 
out  everything — and  told  father." 

She  ceased  speaking,  absorbed  in  her  bitter  mem- 
ories. And  I,  I  knew  at  last  why  Braithe  House  had 
been  closed  to  my  father's  once  favorite. 

"Herbert's  a  fool,"  Lilian  recommenced,  "for  he 
was  doing  well  enough  for  him — earning  his  living, 
at  least — when  his  infernal  vanity  spoiled  everything. 
He  was  in  with  a  lot  of  men  who  make  counterfeit 
money  (he  had  something  to  do  with  passing  it — I 
don't  understand  exactly,  but  it's  a  kind  of  business  in 
its  nasty  way),  and  was  getting  along  fairly,  when  he 
must  needs  ruin  himself  showing  off  at  that  fire.  You 
thought  him  brave — and  all  that!"  She  laughed 
sneeringly.  "It  made  me  sick  to  hear  you  all  praising 
him.  Brave!  Oh,  yes.  Letting  women  down  out 
of  windows,  and  pocketing  their  jewels.  As  souvenirs 
of  the  fire,  I  suppose!" 

I  sat  silent,  too  sick  at  heart  for  words. 

"His  picture  was  put  in  the  paper,"  Lilian  went  on, 
"but  how  that  helped  to  let  the  police  into  his  counter- 
feit money  record,  I  don't  know.  He  says  they're 
after  him  about  that,  not  about  the  other — and  I'm 
nearly  dead,  I  am,  with  keeping  his  vile  secrets,  and 
he  tells  me  everything,  yes,  everything!"  She  again 
began  to  pace  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  like  a  caged 
animal.  "Yes,"  she  stamped  her  foot — in  a  controlled 
fury  that  made  every  action,  every  word,  more  im- 
pressive— "and  he's  got  the  jewels  those  two  fools 
downstairs  are  after." 

315 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

I  sank  down  upon  the  couch,  feeling  too  weak  to 
stand. 

"Theo" — she  leaned  close  over  me — "he's  got  the 
opal,  too!"  Her  eyes  flashed,  the  sweet  rose-pink 
flushed  her  pale  cheeks,  she  clinched  her  small  white 
hands.  "The  Gypsy's  Opal,"  she  said,  slowly,  "so 
sooner — or  later — he's  doomed." 

"Where  are  the  jewels  now?"  I  asked,  faintly. 
"Has  he  them  still?" 

"He  says  that  he  didn't  dare  keep  them  here,"  was 
the  answer.  "That  he  had  to  trust  them  to  his  con- 
federate, Jim  Wylde." 

"Jim  Wylde?"  I  exclaimed,  a  new  horror  of  Her- 
bert, in  this  discovery  of  his  double  villainy,  sweeping 
over  me.  "Is  it  Herbert  who  has  ruined  Jim  Wylde  ?" 
And  I  knew  that  it  must  have  been  my  old  playfellow 
whom  I  had  seen,  masked,  in  the  chapel. 

"Herbert's  between  two  fires  now,"  Lilian  went  on, 
not  heeding,  "his  old  friends,  the  counterfeiters,  and 
the  police.  For  if  the  old  gang  find  out  that  he's 
doing  something  on  his  own  account,  they'll  make  it 
hot  for  him.  There !  the  clock  is  striking  eleven,  it's 
time  to  go.  Herbert  is  waiting  for  you  now." 

"Where?"  I  whispered. 

"In  your  room.  He  said  there  must  be  some  hid- 
den door  there.  And  in  case  the  police  came  unex- 
pectedly, they'd  leave  your  room  till  the  last.  For 
Heaven's  sake,  don't  faint — where's  my  vinaigrette  ?" 

But  I  pushed  away  the  dainty  bottle  and  rose.  "I 
am  ready,"  I  said,  quietly. 

"You  are  so  awfully  white,  Theo!  Are  you  sure 
you  can  go  through  with  it?" 

"I  must,"  I  said. 

"Make  him  give  you  my  letters,"  she  whispered, 
vehemently,  "before  he  leaves  the  house.  And  look, 
yourself,  to  see  if  the  certificate  is  there." 

"Yes,  Lilian." 

316 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

"And,  Theo,  just  one  thing  more.  You  needn't  be 
afraid  that  he'll  make  love  to  you,  for  he  won't.  He's 
only  thinking  of  saving  his  own  skin  now.  He  said 
himself  you'd  be  a  burden ;  and  that  he  was  glad  you 
had  had  more  sense  than  he  about  running  away.  I'll 
go  with  you  to  your  room;  it  may  avert  suspicion. 
And  I'll  wait  for  my  letters  there." 

As  we  went  along  the  gallery  the  door  of  little 
Jane's  room  opened  softly,  and  the  nurse  came  out. 
"I  was  just  coming  for  you  Mrs.  Rappelle,"  she 
said.  "Miss  Janey  can't  sleep,  and  I  think  a  glass 
of  warm  milk  may  soothe  her — she  had  her  supper 
at  six,  you  know.  Will  you  please  stop  with  her  till 
I  come  back  ?" 

Lilian  sighed  heavily. 

"I'll  go  on  to  your  dressing-room,"  she  said.  "Don't 
be  long." 

Little  Jane  was  in  bed,  the  Chevalier  stretched  close 
beside  her.  She  looked  so  lovely  as  she  lay  there — 
her  golden  hair  streaming  in  soft  masses  over  the  pil- 
low, her  big  blue  eyes  bright  with  sleeplessness — so 
sweet  and  pure,  that  I,  with  my  new  knowledge  of 
evil,  felt  unfit  to  approach  her.  The  Chevalier 
thumped  his  tail  gently,  but  did  not  offer  to  move. 
Since  he  was  allowed  to  sleep  on  the  bed,  he  bore  his 
exile  from  my  room  with  exemplary  patience;  but  he 
glanced  at  me  and  blinked  his  long  brown  eyes  with 
an  air  of  hypocritical  resignation. 

"Funny  old  Charles  Stuart!"  said  the  child,  smiling. 
"He's  really  a  Pretender,  isn't  he,  Theo?  Come, 
kneel  down,  and  put  your  head  here,"  she  patted  the 
pillow  softly,  "close,  close  to  mine.  Ah,  how  sweet 
your  roses  smell !  Mustn't  crush  them,  no.  Let  me 
kiss  you,"  lifting  the  flowers,  "under  the  rose.  But 
I'm  not  quite  sure  I  like  them  there  to-night;  they 
make  me  think  of  blood.  Yes,  Theo,  blood  upon 
your  breast." 

317 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"I'll  take  them  off,  pet,"  I  said,  quickly. 
"~No"  said  little  Jane,   "leave  them.     I've  nice 
thoughts  coming  now.     You  are  a  lily,  Theo. 

*  Queen  lily  and  rose  in  one.' 

See,  your  soft  neck  is  as  white  as  a  lily;  and  the  rose, 
leaves  lying  there  make  lily  and  rose  in  one." 

"Fanciful  little  sister!"  I  said,  caressingly. 

"Yes,  that's  true,"  said  the  child,  "and  I'm  sorry. 
My  mind  is  as  queer  as  my  back,  Theo." 

"What  makes  you  so  wakeful,  pussy?"  I  asked, 
anxious  to  change  the  trend  of  her  thoughts. 

"It's  that  awful  Portent,"  she  whispered,  flushing 
feverishly.  "The  three  days  end  at  midnight — who 
will  mount  the  Coach  ?" 

"My  darling,"  I  cried,  clasping  her  close,  "my  fool- 
ish little  Jane!  How  can  you  worry  so  over  that 
nonsensical  old  superstition?" 

"It  ought  to  be  me,"  the  child  went  on,  not  heed- 
ing, "for  I'm  sickly;  or  Lilian,  for  she's  no  good;  but  I 
believe  it's  coming  for  the  Flower  of  the  House.  And 
I'm  most  crazy  thinking  about  it!  No,  don't  inter- 
rupt me,  or  I'll  begin  to  cry.  Talking  corks  up  the 
tears,  somehow.  If  you  were  afraid  of  anything, 
you'd  think  religious  thoughts,  and  get  soothed  down. 
But  I  can't.  Religion  to  you  is  like  a  great  tall 
tree;  and  you  climb  up  among  the  topmost  branches, 
and  listen  to  the  leaves  rustle  and  the  birds  sing,  and 
forget  your  worries.  Yes,  a  tree,"  she  continued, 
dreamily,  "a  magnolia  tree — full  of  white  flowers. 
Do  you  remember  ours,  last  spring,  how  lovely 
it  looked?  An  oriole  came  one  day  and  flashed 
in  and  out  among  the  big  white  cups — you  said 
it  was  drinking  perfume  from  them.  Religion  is  like 
the  magnolia  tree,  to  you.  Yes,  and  you're  like  that 
oriole !  You  said  it  looked  like  a  living  jewel — such 

318 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

pretty  words,  Theo! — and  that's  what  you're  like,  a 
live  jewel;  a  beautiful,  glowing  gem." 

"And  you  are  my  jewel,"  I  said,  fondly,  kissing 
her,  "and  my  bright  little  bird,  as  well.  You  and  I, 
pet,  will  find  comfort  together — and  strength,  and 
sustaining  thoughts,  in  the  beautiful  Tree  that  shelters 
all." 

"If  it  only  weren't  for  the  Deluge !"  burst  out  poor 
little  Jane,  in  a  sudden  wail  of  despair,  "that  awful, 
awful  Deluge,  I  might.  But  it  washes  away  the  roots 
of  the  Tree,  for  me.  To  start  a  lot  of  people  and 
then,  because  some  of  them  were  wicked,  to  Deluge 
them  all  to  death !  Yes,  all.  Innocent  children  and 
babies,  along  with  the  bad  men  and  women!  Now 
don't  contradict  me,  Theo,  for  I  know  all  about  it. 
I've  seen  pictures  of  the  Deluge — and  they've  given 
me  the  crawling  creeps.  And  He  saved  that  ridicu- 
lous old  Noah,  with  his  Shem,  Ham  and  Japhet;  yet 
allows  college  boys  to  make  rude  songs  about  them! 
College  boys  don't  get  Deluged  away  for  poking  fun 
at  the  Ark — and  why  not?  But  the  ways  of  the 
Creator  are  hard  to  understand." 

"Don't  try  to  understand,  my  darling,"  I  said, 
gently,  "just  believe  in  His  goodness,  His  wisdom. 
Put  your  trust  in  Him — and  have  faith." 

"I  don't  like  to  hurt  you,  Theo,"  said  the  child, 
patting  my  cheek,  "and  I  can  believe  in  everything 
lovely,  when  you  hold  me  close.  Pretty,  pretty  dia- 
mond heart!"  She  kissed  my  trinket.  "Etienne's 
heart,  Theo,  yet  your  very  own.  Oh,  here's  nurse 
with  my  milk!  Will  you  sing  to  me  a  little,  before 
you  go?" 

Kneeling  beside  her  bed,  I  chanted  the  beautiful 
old  psalm,  Qui  habitat. 

"Whoso  dwelleth  under  the  defence  of  the 
Most  High,  shall  abide  under  the  shadow  of  the 
Almighty." 

319 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

The  child  settled  down  among  her  pillows,  and 
closed  her  eyes.  As  I  softly  chanted  the  fifth  verse, 
beginning:  "Thou  shalt  not  be  afraid  for  any  terror  by 
night,"  her  gentle  breathing  told  me  that  sleep  had 
come,  to  banish  all  her  fears.  I  stole  quietly  away. 


320 


xxvin 

I  went  swiftly  to  the  door  of  my  dressing-room; 
then  paused,  striving  for  the  composure  of  heart  and 
soul  that  could  alone  carry  me  through  the  coming 
ordeal.  My  mind  was  full  of  resentment  toward  the 
two  who,  under  the  guise  of  affection,  had  but  striven 
to  accomplish  their  own  selfish  ends.  Lilian's  choice 
of  the  black  satin  was  only  a  precaution  against  the 
tell-tale  dust,  or  damp,  of  the  By-Ways;  her  gift  of 
the  red  roses,  a  signal  to  Herbert  that  I  had  sworn  to 
keep  her  secrets — and  his.  She  had  not  needed  to 
assure  me  of  the  death  of  Herbert's — so-called — love 
for  me.  The  remembrance  of  his  appeal  for  help — 
disguised  by  how  many  flowers  of  speech! — of  hia 
announcement  of  his  speedy  departure ;  of  his  graceful 
self-reproaches,  and  affected  desire  for  forgiveness;  all 
told  me  that  his  ephemeral  passion  was  gone.  Yet,  be- 
cause I  knew  him  to  be  a  criminal,  and  because  I,  by 
aiding  him  to  escape  justice,  became  his  accomplice, 
the  thought  of  being  alone  with  him  in  the  By- Ways 
brought  horror. . 

I  stood  with  my  hand  upon  the  knob  of  the  door, 
unable  to  find  courage  to  turn  it. 

"Thou  shalt  not  be  afraid  for  any  terror  by  night," 
I  repeated,  under  my  breath — and  entered. 

Lilian  came  forward  quickly  to  meet  me.  "How 
dared  you  keep  me  in  agony  so  long?"  she  whispered, 
fiercely.  "I'm  almost  mad  with  waiting — in  suspense ! 
He's  in  there" — she  pointed  to  the  closed  door  of  my 
bedroom.  "Go,  for  God's  sake,  and  get  him  out  of 
the  house!" 

321 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

The  large  room  was  dimly  lighted ;  only  one  lamp 
was  burning,  and  that  turned  low.  At  first  I  thought 
that  Lilian  was  mistaken,  that  Herbert  had  not  yet 
come.  But  as  I  opened  a  secret  cupboard,  seeking 
the  lantern  kept  there  always  for  those  who  must 
travel  the  By-Ways,  he  stepped  from  behind  the  tall 
cheval-glass.  A  remembrance  of  his  admiration  for 
my  ruby  flashed  across  my  mind.  Before  lifting, 
with  both  hands,  the  heavy  old-fashioned  lantern,  I 
hastily  slipped  off  the  well-loved  jewel,  and  left  it  in 
safety  behind. 

I  busied  myself  lighting  the  lantern,  neither  look- 
ing at  nor  greeting  the  man  who  advanced  slowly 
toward  me;  yet  I  knew  that  he  had  changed  his  even- 
ing suit  for  one  of  dark  tweed,  that  he  wore  a  shirt  of 
blue  flannel,  and  that  he  carried  a  slouched  hat  in  his 
hand.  In  spite  of  my  efforts  to  steady  them,  my 
fingers  trembled  so  that  I  could  not  accomplish  my 
task;  and  Herbert,  taking  the  lantern  from  me,  lighted 
it  himself.  While  he  was  thus  occupied  I  unfastened 
the  chain  from  about  my  throat  and,  re-opening  the 
cupboard,  placed  the  diamond  heart  beside  my  ring. 
That,  too,  must  remain  mine. 

"What  a  queer  old  thing!"  said  Herbert,  turning 
the  lantern  this  way  and  that,  the  better  to  examine 
the  quaintly  carved  iron  frame,  surmounted  by  the 
twin  Leopards  of  Braithe. 

The  light  through  the  thick,  colored  glass,  cast  a 
purplish-red  glimmer  over  everything  about  me,  mak- 
ing the  familiar  objects  seem  unreal,  and  flinging  a 
stain  upon  Herbert's  handsome  face. 

I  went  quickly  to  the  ponderous  mahogany  armoire 
built  against  the  wall,  opened  its  door,  and  thrusting 
my  hand  between  the  silks  and  velvets  that  hung 
there,  found  and  pressed  a  secret  spring.  The  back 
of  the  armoire  gave  way.  I  motioned  to  Herbert  to 
precede  me.  He  did  so;  and  I  closed  both  outer  and 

322 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

inner  door  behind  us,  as  we  entered  the  By- Ways  of 
Braithe. 

We  stood  upon  a  narrow  ledge  of  stone  at  the  top 
of  a  steep  flight  of  steps,  that  led  sharply  downward  to 
the  basement  of  the  house.  These  steps  ran  side  by 
side  with  the  staircase  that  connected  Etienne's  bed- 
room and  dressing-room,  and  were  so  narrow,  so 
squeezed  in  between  the  walls,  and  so  precipitous  that 
they  were  difficult  of  descent. 

When  I  had  been  taken  by  Mr.  Braithe  through  the 
By- Ways,  it  had  been  a  surprise  to  me  to  find  them 
both  simple  in  construction  and  limited  in  extent. 
Like  the  rest  of  the  uninitiated,  I  had  imagined  that 
the  old  walls  of  the  house  were  fairly  honey-combed 
with  secret  passages ;  while  in  reality  these  mysterious 
hidden  ways  consisted,  in  all,  but  of  two  private  exits. 
Any  good  architect,  or  builder,  could  have  readily 
detected  where  the  staircases  leading  to  these  were 
placed.  Why  my  great-great-great-grandfather  had 
had  them  made,  I  could  not  imagine ;  since  were  they 
exact  copies  of  those  in  the  English  Braithe  House  he 
could  not  have  hoped,  by  means  of  them,  to  have 
eluded  his  justly  incensed  brother.  Theodore,  as 
Head  of  the  Family,  knew  their  secrets  better  than  he. 
But  I  doubted  if  he  had  been  able  to  steal — along  with 
its  other  valuables — a  chart  of  the  English  Manor.  I 
fancied  that  these  hidden  stairways  had  been  planned, 
and  placed,  by  Vivian,  more  from  a  desire  to  have  all 
that  his  brother  had  than  with  any  thought  of  putting 
them  to  use.  I  knew  that  they  had  never  served  any 
purpose — good  or  ill — in  the  time  of  the  Kevolution. 
Braithe  House  had  never  been  occupied  as  headquar- 
ters by  either  the  British  or  our  own  people. 

Herbert  glanced  about  him  curiously.  I  forced  my- 
self to  speak. 

"There  are  two  exits,"  I  said,  coldly.  "One  just 
below;  one  under  the  portico.  Pray  choose." 

323 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"The  one  under  the  portico,  please,  Theo,"  he  an- 
swered, quietly.  "I  want  to  get  to  the  boat-house — 
if  I  can." 

He  took  off  his  coat,  throwing  it  across  his  arm,  and 
slipping  the  ring  of  the  lantern  over  his  wrist,  began 
the  descent. 

As  I  followed  I  noted,  with  fresh  repulsion,  how 
carefully  he  braced  his  hands  against  the  walls  as  he 
moved  slowly  downward,  knowing  that  this  was  done 
for  me.  Did  my  foot  slip  I  should  fall  against  him, 
and  thus  avoid  injury.  Since  he  had  chosen  to  ally 
himself  with  the  scum  of  the  earth,  it  would  have 
pleased  me  better  had  he  treated  me  as,  I  suppose, 
such  creatures  do  treat  women.  This  survival  of  his 
early  training,  of  the  manners  that  had  come  to  him 
with  his  gentle  birth,  disgusted  me.  His  care  for  my 
physical  well-being,  when  he  was  doing  such  cruel 
wrong  to  my  heart  and  soul,  shocked  every  finer  feel- 
ing within  me. 

It  was  hot  to  suffocation  between  the  thick  walls 
on  that  stifling  July  night.  Yet  as  I  crawled  stealth- 
ily— like  a  guilty  thing — past  Etienne's  room,  I  shiv- 
ered as  with  a  chill;  so  cold  was  my  heart  with  the 
dread  of  discovery.  I  dared  not  think  of  the  morrow, 
when  I  must  meet  him;  dared  not  allow  my  imagina- 
tion to  conjure  up  the  scenes  that  must  follow  this 
night  flight.  The  questions  that  would  assuredly  be 
asked — the  lies  that  I  must  tell  and  act.  No,  I  forced 
my  mind  to  concentrate  itself  upon  the  need  of  the 
moment.  I  must  think  only  of  getting  Herbert  away ; 
must  face  each  emergency,  fight  each  danger,  as  it 
came — and  not  look  forward. 

The  ladder-like  stairs  turned  where  those  leading  to 
Etienne's  room  ended,  and  a  second  sharp  flight  took 
us  to  the  lowest  story.  Under  the  library  and  draw- 
ing-room were  the  cellars  of  the  house,  while  the  rest 
of  the  basement  held  the  kitchen  and  servants'  offices. 

324 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

Herbert  looked  on  with  keen  interest  while  I  slipped 
aside  the  heavy  bolt  of  the  door  leading  into  the  cellar, 
and,  opening  it  cautiously,  stepped  through.  When 
closed  behind  us  this  door  was  not  visible;  its  heavy 
woodwork  having  been  carefully  incrusted  with  bite 
of  stone,  it  could  not  be  distinguished  from  the  wall  of 
which  it  formed  a  part.  The  air  of  the  cellar  was 
damp,  and  again  I  shivered.  Before  I  could  prevent 
him,  Herbert  had  flung  his  coat  over  my  shoulders, 
and  buttoned  it  at  my  throat. 

"Don't  waste  time  taking  it  off,  Theo,"  he  said, 
quickly,  as  I  would  have  removed  it.  "I  shan't  go  a 
step  further  till  you  consent  to  keep  it  on." 

Realizing  the  futility  of  remonstrance,  of  any  effort 
on  my  part,  I  submitted;  although  the  touch  of  the 
coat  was  repulsive  to  me,  since  it  was  his.  As  I  moved 
on  hastily — the  more  hastily  because  of  this  fresh  in- 
dignity that  I  must  endure — I  became  conscious  that 
the  coat  was  fragrant  with  the  scent  of  sandal-wood, 
and  wondered  why. 

Keeping  as  near  the  east  wall  as  possible,  I  hurried 
on.  Herbert  still  carried  the  lantern  and,  utilizing 
his  soft  hat  as  a  screen,  so  managed  that  its  dull  red 
rays  shone  out  in  front  alone.  It  was  necessary  to 
enter  the  wine  cellar  in  order  to  reach  the  exit  under 
the  portico;  and  as  I  sought  and  found  the  key  hid- 
den away  for  those  who  used  the  By- Ways,  I  thought 
I  heard  something — or  someone — moving  in  the  large 
cellar  we  had  just  left.  At  the  same  moment  the 
purplish-red  light  from  the  lantern  disappeared, 
showing  that  Herbert  shared  my  alarm.  I  held 
my  breath,  listening  intently.  But  my  heart 
throbbed  so  painfully  that  I  could  hear  nothing  else. 
What  seemed  an  eternity  passed.  Then  Herbert 
spoke. 

"A  false  alarm,"  he  whispered.  "Probably  a  rat 
scrambling  about.  Courage,  Theo !  we  are  quite  safe." 

325 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

And  again  the  sullen  rays  from  the  lantern  made 
threatening  shadows  start  into  evil  shapes. 

With  trembling  fingers  I  unlocked  the  door  of  the 
wine  cellar,  and,  entering,  closed  and  relocked  it  with 
nervous  haste.  I  was  sick  with  terror.  A  feverish 
heat  ran  through  my  veins,  driving  away  the  chill  of 
the  moment  before.  Yet  I  dared  not  take  Herbert's 
coat  from  my  shoulders.  He  now  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  cellar,  holding  the  uncovered  lantern  high,  and 
gazing  about  him  with  an  air  of  almost  affectionate 
interest. 

"What  a  jolly  old  place  it  is !"  he  said,  in  an  under- 
tone; "uncle  used  to  bring  me  down  here  and  tell  tales 
of  its  past  glories.  This  is  just  the  light  to  see  it  in, 
too.  Looks  as  though  it  were  aglow  with  the  rich 
Burgundy  those  shelves  are  groaning  under.  I 
shouldn't  mind  a  glass  of  Burgundy  now.  Hold  on  a 
minute,  Dolly!  You  shall  have  some,  too.  There's 
a  corkscrew  in  my  knife." 

"No,  no,"  I  whispered,  vehemently,  "you  must  not 
stop." 

I  went  quickly  to  one  corner,  pressed  my  way  in  be- 
tween two  casks,  and,  counting  the  stones  of  the  wall 
behind  them,  drew  out  the  one  that  concealed  the  bolt 
of  the  hidden  door.  "Come,  Herbert,"  I  commanded. 

He  followed  unwillingly.  We  stood  beneath  the 
portico,  whose  sides  Old  Vivian  had  had  walled  up  in 
order  to  gain  this  exit,  for  a  door,  like  the  two  we 
had  already  passed  through,  here  led  outward.  When 
I  had  made  ready  to  open  this,  I  felt  that  my  task  was 
accomplished.  My  journey  with  Herbert  was  ended. 

"Please  give  me  the — the  letters,"  I  whispered — I 
hated  to  mention  them — "and  take  this."  I  unbut- 
toned his  coat,  but  he  caught  my  hand  and  stopped  me, 
before  I  could  throw  it  off. 

"Not  yet,"  he  said.  "Keep  it  on  till  I  see  if  the 
coast  is  clear.  The  letters  are  in  one  of  its  pockets. 

326 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

You  don't  believe  me?  There,  look  yourself."  He 
took  a  packet  from  a  side  pocket  as  he  spoke,  opened 
it,  and,  holding  up  the  lantern,  showed  me  that  it  con- 
tained the  letters.  I  saw  Lilian's  handwriting  upon 
the  envelopes.  "Best  make  sure,"  he  went  on,  with  a 
sneering  smile.  And,  opening  one,  he  drew  out  the 
certificate  of  marriage.  I  was  convinced.  "If  you'll 
hold  the  end  of  this,"  he  went  on,  taking  a  roll  of  rib- 
bon from  his  pocket,  "and  play  Ariadne  to  my  Theseus, 
I'll  have  a  peep  outside.  Now,  Theo,"  as  I  began  to 
object,  "do  be  sensible!  How  can  I  find  my  way 
back,  in  the  dark?  For  you'll  have  to  cover  up  the 
lantern."  Seeing  that  I  still  hesitated,  he  added, 
speaking  very  gently,  "I  should  hate  to  shoot  on 
sight,  Dolly,  but  I  must  if  there  is  no  other  way  of 
retreat  open.  I  won't  be  taken  alive." 

This  was  the  last  straw.  My  overstrained  nerves 
almost  gave  way.  It  had  never  occurred  to  me  that, 
in  order  to  make  good  his  escape,  Herbert  would  not 
hesitate  to  commit  murder.  A  deadly  faintness  came 
over  me.  I  fought  it  down.  My  nerves  must  not, 
should  not,  fail  me  now,  when  the  lives  of  others  de- 
pended upon  me.  Herbert  spoke  again.  His  voice 
seemed  to  come  from  a  great  distance,  yet  I  knew  that 
he  stood  close  beside  me. 

"Will  you  hold  the  ribbon — dear?"  For  answer  I 
put  out  a  trembling  hand. 

"Let  me  wind  it  about  your  wrists,  Dolly,"  he  whis- 
pered. "If  you  dropped  it  you  might  not  be  able  to 
find  it  in  the  dark." 

I  submitted,  and  in  another  moment  was  alone. 
Now  and  again  a  pale  glimmer,  flashing  through  the 
partially  opened  door,  told  me  that  the  heat-lightning 
was  still  at  play.  I  stood  motionless;  waiting — in 
dumb  anguish — for  the  pistol  shot  that  would  tell  me 
that  my  worst  fears  were  realized.  What  appeared 
hours  of  agony  passed.  Then  the  ribbon  jerked  sud- 

327 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

denly,  and  Herbert  re-entered,  closing  the  door  behind 
him,  and  uncovering  the  lantern.  Its  baleful  light 
gleamed  upon  a  revolver  that  he  thrust  into  his  hip- 
pocket,  and  showed  me  his  smiling  face. 

"No  go,  Dolly!"  he  whispered,  gayly,  as  he  un- 
wound the  ribbon  from  my  wrists.  "We're  not  far 
enough  from  the  madding  crowd.  Praie  is  enjoying 
the  evening  air  on  the  path  to  the  boat-house,  and 
there's  a  light  in  the  library.  We  must  try  the  north 
side  of  the  house;  the  trees  grow  thick  there.  It's  just 
like  old  times.  I  feel  as  though  we  were  children 
again,  playing  hide-and-seek!"  He  laughed  softly, 
as  though  delighting  in  the  excitement  of  the  hour; 
and,  as  we  retraced  our  steps  through  the  cellars,  he 
led  the  way.  The  contrivances  of  Vivian  were  but 
clumsy,  easily  managed  affairs,  to  his  quick-witted  de- 
scendant. 

To  the  ignorant  the  cellar  under  the  library  ap- 
peared to  end  where  the  great  chimney  of  that  room 
had  its  foundation.  But  back  of  it  there  was  here,  as 
above,  a  small  room,  at  the  foot  of  the  secret  stairs  by 
means  of  which  Herbert  and  I  had  reached  the  cellar. 
This  we  now  entered.  I  had  the  dreadful  feeling  of 
having  already  spent  years  in  this  vain  attempt  to  rid 
myself  of  my  detested  companion;  a  nightmare  sensa- 
tion of  being  obliged  to  remain  shut  away  with  him  in 
these  gloomy  By- Ways  forever. 

"What  a  close  little  place!"  said  Herbert,  in  a  care- 
fully lowered  voice.  "No  means  of  ventilation  that 
I  can  see.  I'm  glad  there's  a  bench;  do  sit  down." 
As  he  drew  out  his  handkerchief  to  dust  off  the  heavy 
wooden  settle — the  only  piece  of  furniture  the  room 
contained — he  paused,  bent  down,  ran  his  finger  along 
the  seat;  then  asked,  quickly,  when  I  had  visited  the 
By- Ways  last.  "Have  you  been  here  very  lately, 
Theo?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

328 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

"Since  uncle  died?"  he  persisted. 

"No,"  I  said,  shortly. 

"Then  someone  else  has,"  he  continued,  speaking 
slowly,  "for  the  dust  on  this  is  very  light.  Does  Rap- 
pelle  know  the  secrets  of  the  House. 

"Not  to  my  knowledge,"  I  replied. 

"Someone  knows  them,"  said  Herbert,  musingly, 
"and  the  question  is — who?  But  sit  down,  Dolly; 
you  are  white  from  fatigue." 

"No,"  I  said,  coldly,  mounting  the  steps  that  led  up 
to  the  narrow  door  of  exit,  and  preparing  to  draw  its 
bolt;  "you  had  best  go." 

"Not  yet,"  he  answered,  quickly;  "I've  changed  my 
mind.  I'll  give  Praie  a  chance  to  get  sleepy  first. 
There's  time  enough — and  I'm  not  anxious  for  a  row." 

He  came  to  me,  and,  taking  my  unwilling  hand  in 
his,  drew  me  back  to  the  bench.  I  dared  not  resist. 
Etienne  might  already  have  entered  his  room,  just 
above  us;  and  if,  as  Herbert  suspected,  he  had  mas- 
tered Vivian's  simple  mysteries,  our  danger  of  being 
discovered  was  great. 

"I  can  see  that  Lilian  has  been  poisoning  your  mind 
against  me,"  said  Herbert,  in  a  plaintive  undertone, 
as  he  sat  down  beside  me.  "How  you  can  believe  that 
she  has  sufficient  sense  to  judge  anybody's  actions,  I 
don't  understand.  Her  mind  is  fairly  eaten  up  with 
selfishness  and  silly  superstitions.  Lilian  is  a  fool!" 

I  sat  silent,  straining  my  ears  for  sounds  in  the  room 
overhead.  There  came  a  sullen  mutter  from  without. 
I  started  nervously. 

"Only  thunder,  Dolly,"  said  Herbert,  reassuringly, 
"and  it's  very  far  off.  No  storm  is  coming  this  way. 
What  did  Lilian  tell  you  about  me  ?" 

"Everything,"  I  answered,  briefly,  hoping  that  this 
revelation  of  my  knowledge  of  his  evil  deeds  might 
still  his  tongue. 

"Just  like  her!"  he  ejaculated.  "I  might  have 
329 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

known  she  would.  But  I'm  not  so  black  as  I  am 
painted,  Dolly,  I  swear  I'm  not!  Passing  a  little 
counterfeit  money  isn't  such  a  bad  business  as  you 
think.  Shop-keepers,  and  such  people,  cheat  so  like 
the  devil  that  they  ought  to  get  let  in  for  a  few  losses 
once  in  a  while,  just  to  serve  them  out.  As  for  the 
jewels — ah!"  He  ceased  speaking,  staring  at  my  left 
hand.  "So  you  wouldn't  trust  me,  Dora?  I  think 
you  might  have  spared  me  that —  Why,"  his  care- 
fully lowered  voice  vibrated  as  if  with  sudden  excite- 
ment, "your  wedding-ring  is  gone.  O  Dolly !" 

His  eyes  flashed,  he  watched  me  eagerly.  I  looked 
at  my  hand.  It  was,  indeed,  quite  bare.  In  my 
hurry  I  had  pulled  off  my  wedding-ring  along  with 
the  ruby.  Herbert  turned  his  head  away. 

"It  is  time  to  go,"  he  said,  in  a  constrained  tone, 
pulling  out  his  watch.  "Twenty  minutes  of  twelve." 

This  seemed  almost  incredible  to  me.  Surely  we 
had  been  in  these  By- Ways  for  many  hours!  I 
glanced  over  his  shoulder.  He  had  spoken  truly — it 
was  but  twenty  minutes  of  twelve. 

"I  must  ask  you  to  hold  this  again,"  Herbert  went 
on,  "since  I  may  have  to  come  back." 

"Come  back  ?"  I  echoed,  faintly. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  coldly,  "but  I  don't  expect  to.  Of 
course,  if  you  would  rather  I  forced  my  way — "  I 
held  out  my  hand  for  the  ribbon.  "Both,  please,"  he 
whispered.  "I  must  wind  it  around  your  wrists,  as 
before." 

I  submitted.  Thank  God  the  end  was  near.  He 
leaned  down,  his  bent  head  between  me  and  his  busy 
fingers.  Suddenly  I  felt  his  arms  about  my  waist. 

"Herbert!"  I  exclaimed,  in  a  fierce  whisper. 

"It's  all  right,"  he  interrupted,  and,  before  I  well 
knew  what  he  was  doing,  he  took  something  from  one 
of  the  pockets  of  the  coat  that  still  hung  over  my 
shoulders  and  shook  it  out. 

330 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

"The  palmist's  scarf!"  I  said,  and  would  have 
stretched  out  my  hands  for  it.  They  refused  to  obey 
me.  Herbert  had  knotted  the  ribbon  wound  firmly 
around  my  wrists  about  my  waist.  I  was  powerless. 
Before  I  could  cry  out  for  aid,  he  had  silenced  my  lips 
with  the  silken  scarf,  binding  it  close  across  my 
mouth. 

The  whole  air  was  fragrant  with  sandal-wood,  and 
as  I  reeled,  faint  with  the  horror  of  my  position,  with 
my  desperate  struggle  for  freedom,  and  for  breath, 
I  seemed  to  be  sinking  into  a  sea  of  perfume.  Her- 
bert caught  me,  drew  me  down  upon  the  bench,  and, 
his  arm  around  me,  began  to  fan  me  with  the  palmist's 
gift,  that  still  swung  at  my  side. 

"You  can  breathe  perfectly,  darling,"  he  whispered, 
tenderly,  "if  you'll  just  have  the  sense  to  realize  it. 
There,  that's  my  own  clever  Dolly,"  as  my  breathing 
grew  less  labored.  "I  knew  you  would  not  faint." 

The  fan  swayed  to  and  fro.  The  face  of  the  Bud- 
dha appeared  from  beneath  the  rippling  surface  of  the 
water. 

"I  shall  take  you  with  me,  dear,"  murmured  Her- 
bert, "just  as  I  have  planned  to  do  all  along.  I  never 
meant  to  leave  Braithe  alone,  Dolly." 

I  glanced  about  me  wildly.  I  prayed  passionately 
for  discovery.  I  no  longer  cared  to  protect  Lilian,  or 
to  save  Herbert  from  disgrace.  I  thought  only  of 
myself.  The  ugly  purplish-red  glow  from  the  lantern 
— swung  high  now,  on  a  hook  beside  the  door  of  exit — 
cast  its  hateful  stain  upon  the  stone  walls  of  the  narrow 
room.  I  was  so  near  Etienne — yet  shut  away  from 
him,  perhaps  forever.  As  hope  died,  I  thought  I 
heard  someone  moving  in  the  tiny  passage  outside. 
The  faintest  rustling,  as  if  unaccustomed  fingers  were 
trying — very  cautiously — to  press  the  spring  of  the 
door.  Did  I  imagine  it,  or  did  the  heavy  door  move  ? 

"I  took  the  jewels  for  you,  dear."  Herbert  spoke 
331 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

slowly  as  he  made  Ms  strange  defence.  "It  won't 
hurt  those  people — they're  so  rich.  It  will  be  an 
amusement  to  them  to  buy  new  ones.  I'll  use  the 
gems  to  make  you  comfortable.  We'll  build  a 
Braithe  House  of  our  own  some  day,  Dolly — like 
Vivian  and  Sophia.  In  another  country — Canada, 
perhaps.  I  dare  say  he  had  to  use  a  little  gentle  force 
to  persuade  her  to  come  here  with  him.  Did  you 
throw  away  your  wedding-ring  as  a  sign  to  me  that  you 
were  ready  ?  I  mean  to  believe  so." 

Was  the  door  ajar?  I  stared  at  it  until  my  over- 
strained eyes  blurred  with  the  effort.  I  must  rest 
them — to  see  the  better.  I  looked  at  the  fan.  Her- 
bert moved  it  slowly,  languorously.  The  lilies  of  the 
pond  seemed  swaying  gently — the  full  lips  of  the  god 
to  curve  in  a  dreamy  smile. 

"I  made  Lilian  get  your  opal  for  me,"  continued 
Herbert.  "I  was  determined  you  shouldn't  lose  that. 
I  have  it  around  my  neck  now.  But  it's  time  to  go." 

He  crushed  me  to  him  suddenly,  kissing  my  cheek. 
As  he  released  me,  a  lea^  from  the  roses  on  my  breast 
fell  to  the  floor. 

"Ah!"  he  exclaimed,  "such  tell-tales  must  be  got 
rid  of."  He  lifted  the  coat,  unpinned  the  roses,  then 
pressed  his  lips  where  their  petals  had  lain.  Where 
my  little  sister's  kisses  had  blessed  me,  his  now 
branded.  And  I  felt  as  though  I  were  going  mad,  in 
my  impotence — in  my  awful  despair. 

He  lifted  his  face  at  last— white,  even  in  the  red 
light  of  the  lantern.  "I  can't  understand  why  you 
don't  love  me,"  he  whispered,  passionately,  "when  I 
worship  you  so!" 

He  took  the  rose  from  my  hair  and  thrust  it,  with 
the  others,  into  his  breast.  Then,  still  holding  me 
fast,  drew  me  with  him  up  the  steps  to  the  door,  and — 
after  extinguishing  the  light — opened  it,  lifted  me  in 
his  arms,  and  carried  me  out  into  the  night. 

332 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

The  atmosphere  was  still  hot,  oppressive;  a  death- 
like hush  was  over  everything,  save  when — at  long 
intervals — there  came  the  dull  rumble  of  distant  thun- 
der. The  darkness  was  intense  and  Herbert  paused, 
uncertain  of  his  path.  Then  a  faint  flash  of  lightning 
made  the  shapely  trunks  of  the  surrounding  sycamores 
and  tulip  trees  stand  boldly  out,  and  showed  the  grove 
of  arbor-vitse  on  the  edge  of  the  bank  beyond.  Be- 
hind us  loomed  up,  black  and  sullen,  the  windowless 
end  of  the  north  wing.  The  light  vanished,  but  Her- 
bert— as  if  still  seeing — bore  me  forward,  threading 
his  way,  without  apparent  difficulty,  between  the 
trees.  And,  even  in  my  wretchedness,  I  could  not 
but  marvel  at  his  great  strength,  for  he  carried  me 
with  almost  careless  ease. 

"Hide  your  face  against  my  shoulder,  Dolly,"  he 
whispered,  as  the  pleasant  pungent  odor  of  the  arbor- 
vitse  told  me  that  we  had  reached  the  grove.  "These 
trees  grow  close;  their  branches  may  hurt  you."  And 
he  moved  slowly,  shielding  me  with  arm  and  hand,  as 
he  began  to  descend  the  bank. 

My  eyes  were  growing  accustomed  to  the  dark- 
ness. We  were  in  a  little  glade,  its  sides  topped 
by  trees;  below  us  the  river.  Herbert  set  me  down 
gently,  needing  a  moment's  rest  But  his  arms 
were  still  around  me,  and  I  felt  his  lips  upon  my 
hair.  I  strove  to  draw  away.  He  but  pressed  me 
closer,  murmuring  that  he  loved  me,  and  would  hold 
me  fast. 

"That  you,  Bert?"  said  a  voice  very  near  us. 

My  heart  stood  still,  then  beat  with  suffocating 
rapidity,  for  I  was  saved!  Close  beside  me,  though 
hardly  visible  in  the  darkness,  was  my  old  playmate, 
James  Wylde.  I  struggled  to  speak,  to  free  myself, 
but  Herbert  held  me  firmly,  and  my  words  were  but  a 
moan. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  Herbert  asked, 
333 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

sharply,  in  evident  surprise.  "Is  the  boat  below? 
Then  don't  wait."  And  quickly,  dexterously,  he 
turned,  so  that  he  was  between  me  and  Jim,  adding, 
"Be  off!  and  meet  me  later,  where  I  told  you."  His 
words  were  followed  by  the  soft  rustle  of  retreating 
footsteps. 

I  was  sick  with  despair.  But  I  said  to  myself, 
fiercely,  that  the  river  was  wide,  and  long,  and  deep; 
and  that  before  Herbert  had  gone  far  he  should  be 
without  a  companion.  The  lightning,  playing  along 
the  distant  horizon,  now  showed  me  Jim's  tall  figure 
at  the  top  of  the  side  slope.  I  saw  him  turn  and  look 
back,  as  if  at  us.  Then  the  light  died  away,  and  Her- 
bert, again  lifting  me  in  his  arms,  recommenced  his 
journey  downward.  Suddenly  Jim's  voice  struck 
sharply  through  the  gloom : 

"Who've  you  got  with  you,  Bert  Fayne?" 

"Nobody,"  said  Herbert,  shortly. 

"That's  a  lie,"  was  the  quick  retort.     "Who  is  it?" 

I  felt  Herbert  start.  Then  he  controlled  himself. 
"You've  done  your  part,"  he  said,  with  forced  good- 
nature, "and  if  I  choose  to  take  a  pretty  face  with  me, 
what's  that  to  you?" 

He  spoke  as  though  I  had  been  some  young  girl  of 
the  neighborhood,  who  had  pleased  his  idle  fancy. 
And  I  knew  from  Jim's  half-grumbled  apology  that 
he  was  sorry  he  had  interfered.  But  the  faint  glim- 
mer of  the  lightning  came  again,  and  his  words  died 
upon  his  lips,  for  he  saw  me. 

"By  God,  it's  Theo!"  he  cried,  fiercely,  seizing  Her- 
bert by  the  shoulder  and  twisting  him  sharply  around. 
"You  leave  her  go,  Bert  Fayne !" 

"Damn  your  impertinence!"  said  Herbert,  with 
equal  fierceness.  "How  dare  you  meddle  with  our 
affairs?  Get  out  of  my  way." 

He  tried  to  struggle  forward,  but  Jim  held  him 
fast.  "You  wait  till  she  says  she  wants  to  go  off  with 

334 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

you,"  lie  said,  hoarsely.  "I'll  never  believe  it  till 
then!" 

Herbert,  knowing  that  my  swathed  mouth  would,  if 
seen,  bear  witness  against  him,  strove  to  conceal  my 
face;  but  the  fitful  light  from  across  the  river  made 
his  effort  vain. 

"You've  gagged  her,"  said  Jim,  in  an  awed  whisper. 
"You're  the  biggest  devil  I  know!"  He  tore  the  scarf 
from  my  face,  and  caught  Herbert  by  the  throat. 
"You'd  choke  her,  would  you,  damn  you?"  he  panted 
through  his  set  teeth.  "Try  how  you  like  it  yourself!" 

Herbert  staggered  back,  lost  his  hold — and  I  was 
free.  With  frantic  haste,  my  bound  hands  crippling 
every  movement,  I  stumbled  back  up  the  bank,  on 
into  the  black  shadows  of  the  grove.  How  might  I 
make  my  way  through  the  trees  without  my  hands? 
Alas!  I  knew  that  even  could  I  do  this,  and  succeed  in 
reaching  the  house,  the  By-Ways,  because  of  my  help- 
less condition,  would  be  closed  to  me.  I  might  attract 
Lilian's  attention — calling  softly  to  her  beneath  the 
window  of  my  dressing-room — and,  with  her  help, 
steal  in.  But  no,  the  house  was  watched.  If  I  were 
seen,  my  hands  bound,  Herbert's  coat  upon  my  shoul- 
ders—  No,  I  would  re-enter  by  the  By- Ways  or  not 
at  all. 

As  I  paused  at  the  top  of  the  bank,  my  mind  dis- 
tracted by  its  harassing  thoughts — a  hunted  creature, 
not  knowing  which  way  to  turn — a  heavy  thud  from 
below  told  me  that  one,  if  not  both,  of  the  combatants 
had  fallen.  If  Herbert  had  conquered,  he  would  come 
for  me — would  search  everywhere.  I  held  my 
breath;  the  effort  to  hear  what  was  taking  place  be- 
came a  positive  pain. 

"Courage,  O  Diamond  among  beautiful  women!" 
said  a  voice  from  out  of  the  darkness,  and  I  felt  deft 
fingers  .unknotting  the  ribbon  at  my  waist. 

"The  palmist!"  I  gasped,  a  great  sob  rising  in  my 
335 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

throat,  in  my  joy  at  my  release — in  my  misery  at  my 
position.  Discovered  thus,  by  a  stranger! 

"And  Felix  Fadd,  Mrs.  Rappelle,"  said  my  unseen 
companion,  ceasing  to  use  fantastic  language,  directly 
it  had  served  its  purpose  and  quieted  my  alarm.  Then 
as  my  hands  were  freed,  he  added :  "Give  me  the  coat." 
I  obeyed  quickly.  "And  take  this."  A  match-box 
was  placed  in  my  trembling  fingers.  "The  light  from 
the  library  will  guide  you  now,"  he  said,  gravely,  "and 
the  door  into  the  By- Ways  is  ajar.  Go  swiftly,  Mra. 
Rappelle." 

All  the  strange  happenings  of  the  night  had  been 
so  unreal  to  me  that  I  accepted  the  presence  of  the 
palmist,  and  the  disclosure  of  his  identity,  without 
question  or  surprise.  I  murmured  a  few  broken 
words  of  thanks,  and  hastened  back  to  the  house.  As 
I  reached  it  and  was  closing  the  secret  door  behind  me, 
the  metallic  voice  of  the  old  clock  cut  through  the 
heavy  air  like  a  knife.  I. listened,  counting.  Twelve 
strokes.  Twenty  minutes  had  seemed  a  lifetime ! 

While  hurriedly  lighting  the  lantern  I  heard  the 
sharp  report  of  a  revolver.  Shuddering,  I  hastened  up 
the  ladder-like  stairs,  on,  through  the  armoire,  to  my 
room.  Running  to  its  eastern  window,  turning  the 
swivels  of  its  closed  blinds,  I  stared  out  into  the  night. 
The  light  from  the  library  had  vanished.  Was  it 
fancy,  or  did  I  really  hear  the  sound  of  footsteps,  mov- 
ing quickly  toward  the  grove? 

The  rain  had  come.  It  fell  with  dull,  unceasing 
patter  upon  the  roof  of  the  portico. 

Who  had  fallen,  after  that  pistol  shot — James 
Wylde?  And  who  was  outside,  in  the  pall-like  dark- 
ness— Etienne? 


336 


XXIX 

"Theo?"  said  an  impatient  voice  from  my  dressing- 
room,  "Theo — are  you  there?  When  did  you  come 
in?  What  was  that  pistol  shot?"  And  Lilian,  tip- 
toeing across  the  room,  joined  me  at  the  window. 
"Why  are  you  looking  out,  you  can't  see  in  this  dark- 
ness—  Oh,  how  awful!"  as  the  lightning  illuminated 
the  short  stretch  of  grass  below  the  window,  the  great 
trees,  the  wide  river,  and  a  little  group  of  men  slowly 
mounting  the  steps  of  the  portico.  "Theo !  have  they 
caught  him?  Oh,  what  shall  I  do;  what  shall  I — " 
she  broke  off,  turning  upon  me  fiercely.  "The  let- 
ters?" she  whispered,  feverishly.  "The  letters — 
where  are  they?" 

I  gave  them  to  her,  and  told  her  rapidly  what  had 
happened. 

"Herbert  may  have  been  shot — he  may  be  dead!" 
she  gasped.  "Oh,  if  that's  only  true !  Quick,  get  off 
this  scarf."  It  still  hung  about  my  throat.  "Make 
yourself  presentable  before  you're  seen.  Your  hair 
is  coming  down,  there's  a  long  rope  of  it  hanging  over 
your  shoulder.  Hush!  What  was  that?  If  Herbert 
isn't  dead,  I  shall  go  mad !  I'm  almost  crazy  now,  sit- 
ting all  alone,  waiting,  waiting,  in  this  dreadful  room. 
All  its  silken  roses  and  soft  rugs  can't  cover  up  its  hor- 
rors. It's  full  of  dead  people;  Lydia — ah!" — she 
clutched  me  nervously — "what's  that  moving  in  the 
corner?"  She  pointed  across  the  room,  staring,  white- 
faced,  at  the  high  four-post  bedstead  with  its  rose- 
strewn  hangings.  "Oh,  I  see  now,  nothing  but  those 

337 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

curtains  waving,"  she  said  in  a  relieved  voice.  "But 
the  room  is  so  dark.  I'll  turn  up  the  lamp." 

I  stopped  her.  "No,  no,"  I  said,  hastily;  "if  they 
think  I  am  asleep,  they  may  not  disturb  me." 

"By  'they,'  you  mean  Etienne?" 

"Yes,  Lilian,"  I  said. 

We  stood  together  by  the  window,  in  the  dimly 
lighted  room,  listening  breathlessly.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  I  could  hear  people  moving  about  in  the  library, 
the  murmur  of  hushed  voices,  the  laying  down  of  a 
heavy  burden.  But  my  imagination  was  so  fevered 
that  I  could  not  trust  my  own  senses.  I  asked  Lilian 
if  she  heard  anything. 

"I  can't  tell,"  she  said,  in  a  terrified  whisper.  "I've 
strained  my  ears  so  long,  listening  for  you  from  the 
dressing-room  (I  couldn't  stand  waiting  in  here),  that 
they're  full  of  noises — rustlings,  whisperings,  footsteps 
— ah !  somebody's  coming  now " 

But  no  one  came. 

"You  had  better  go  to  your  room,"  I  said,  striving 
for  composure,  "and  to  bed.  You  can  rest,  if  you 
can't  sleep.  There  is  no  use  of  your  staying  here  with 
me." 

"No,"  she  whimpered,  "you're  worse  than  nobody; 
white  as  a  ghost,  your  eyes  caverns,  and  that  coil  of 
hair,  like  a  great  black  snake,  hanging  over  your 
shoulder.  You  are  awful  looking !  Theo!"  she  stared 
at  me  strangely,  "your  wedding-ring  is  gone:  What 
a  terrible  omen!  Where  is  it?  Lost — or  what?" 

As  she  ceased  speaking  the  secret  panel  slid  aside 
and  Etienne  entered. 

Lilian  edged  away  from  me,  slipping  quickly 
through  the  shadows  till  she  had  put  the  width  of  half 
the  room  between  us;  then  paused,  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  as  though  curiosity  had  conquered  fear.  Etienne 
gave  us  no  greeting,  but,  going  to  the  lamp,  turned  it 
high,  lighted  the  candles  on  the  tall  chimney-piece, 

338 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

and  then  confronted  me.  His  face  was  colorless;  his 
hair  and  loose  smoking-jacket  of  black  velvet  were 
glistening  with  moisture.  I  stepped  forward  to  go  to 
him,  then  stood  still,  daunted  by  the  expression  of 
mingled  hatred  and  contempt  in  his  brilliant  eyes. 
He  scanned  me  from  head  to  foot,  taking  in  every  de- 
tail of  my  disordered  dress. 

"I  am  here,  madam,"  he  said  slowly,  and  his  low 
voice  was  terrible  in  its  bitter  scorn,  "to  tell  you  that 
your  lover  is  dead." 

Lilian  uttered  a  low  cry,  but  Etienne  did  not  notice 
her.  I  think  he  did  not  even  see  her,  for  his  passion 
made  him  blind  to  all  save  me. 

"His  theft  had  been  discovered,"  he  continued,  in 
the  same  even  tone,  "but  it  was  thought  that  he  could 
not  escape;  since  you,  and  you  only — it  was  supposed 
— knew  the  By- Ways  of  Braithe.  No  one  imagined 
that  my  wife  would  help  this  man,  although  he  were 
her  cousin,  to  get  away  with  his  spoils.  As  for  sus- 
pecting that  the  thief  was  her  lover " 

"Etienne!"  I  cried,  imploringly,  then  checked  the 
words  on  my  lips,  not  daring  to  begin  a  defence  for 
fear  of  involving  Lilian,  and  so  breaking  my  oath. 

He  waited  a  moment,  and  finding  that  I  said  noth- 
ing further,  spoke  himself. 

"Answer,"  he  said,  sternly,  "and  don't  attempt  to 
deceive  me.  Did  you,  or  did  you  not,  guide  Herbert 
Fayne  through  the  By- Ways  to-night?  Yes  or  no?" 

I  bowed  my  head,  I  could  not  speak. 

"Did  you  enter  them  from  this  room?" 

Again  I  made  a  motion  in  acquiescence. 

"How  long  were  you  in  them?"  he  demanded. 

I  was  silent. 

"Answer,"  he  said,  fiercely. 

"A  half  hour,"  I  faltered. 

He  laughed  harshly.  "A  half  hour!"  he  repeated. 
"A  half  hour!  And  I  suppose  you  would  have  me 

339 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

believe — "  He  broke  off,  his  quick  eyes  had  spied 
the  absence  of  my  rings.  "At  least,"  he  said,  looking 
at  me  strangely,  "you  had  the  decency  to  leave  your 
wedding-ring  behind  you.  I  knew  from  the  first," 
he  went  on,  slowly,  "that  it  meant  little  to  you;  but, 
in  my  blind  folly,  I  believed  you  respected  what  it 
stood  for.  And  so,  to  a  certain  extent,  you  must 
have ;  since  you  would  not  wear  that  symbol  of  honor 
when — "  He  did  not  finish  his  sentence;  it  was  as 
though  he  could  not,  as  if  the  words  would  not  pass 
his  lips. 

"Those  men  downstairs,"  he  said,  presently,  "are 
wondering  how  the  secret  exits  were  discovered.  Not 
one  of  them  would  dream  of  questioning  the  immacu- 
late purity  of  the  lovely  Mrs.  Rappelle!"  Again  he 
laughed.  "You  have  so  befooled  them,  that  were  they 
to  be  told  the  truth,  that  you  were  the  guide  and  com- 
panion of  that  villain — that  you  would  have  fled  with 
him  to-night,  they  would  either  not  believe  it  or  they 
would  find  some  excuses  for  you  still." 

He  pointed  at  my  satin,  a  derisive  smile  twisting  his 
lips.  I  looked  down.  The  long  train  was  stained 
with  grass  and  mud,  where  it  had  been  trampled  upon 
during  that  short  struggle  under  the  trees. 

"Lies  will  not  serve  you,  you  see,"  he  said,  and  as 
he  spoke  he  drew  a  handful  of  crumpled  rose  leaves 
from  his  pocket,  and  held  them  toward  me  in  his  open 
palm.  "These  were  found  upon  your  lover's  breast — 
I  saw  them,  earlier,  against  your  own.  I  wanted  to 
kiss  the  white  neck  they  rested  on,  but  denied  myself, 
while  he " 

He  was  silent  an  instant,  then  his  passion,  kept 
thus  far  in  check,  broke  its  bonds.  He  flung  the 
fragrant  petals  from  him  as  if  they  had  been  poisonous 
live  things,  a  dark  red  suffused  his  rigid  face,  his  eyes 
blazed. 

"You  let  me  hold  you  in  my  arms  and  kiss  your 
340 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

lips,"  he  cried,  furiously,  "when  you  were  planning 
to  disgrace  me!  You  fooled  me  with  the  pretence 
that  you  were  learning  to  love  me,  but  the  better  to 
put  me  off  my  guard !" 

I  tried  to  speak ;  strove  to  tell  him  that  I  had  wished 
Herbert  to  escape  because  of  the  Braithe  honor.  I 
could  not  force  myself  to  voice  this  falsehood,  know- 
ing too  well  that  but  for  my  oath  I  would  have  carried 
my  trouble  straight  to  him.  As  I  stood  silent,  like  a 
guilty  thing,  he  suddenly  held  up  before  me  the  opal 
on  its  diamond  chain.  The  great  gem  seemed  shot 
through  with  flames  of  green  and  blue ;  it  was  resplen- 
dent, surpassing  the  diamonds  in  its  wealth  of  color. 

"This  you  clasped  about  your  lover's  throat,"  he 
cried,  his  voice  hoarse  with  passion,  "then  forced  your 
innocent  sister  to  bear  the  blame  of  its  loss — wanton !" 

He  hurled  words  and  jewels  at  me.  Both  struck 
upon  my  breast,  but  the  cruel  insult  cut  deep  into  my 
heart.  And  I  caught  the  opal,  the  Gypsy's  Opal,  my 
mother's  opal,  and  pressed  it  close,  close  to  the  wound ; 
as  if  the  mere  touch  of  the  gen — glowing  now,  like  a 
heart  on  fire — might  bring  me  ease  and  healing. 

Etienne  stood  silent,  regarding  me  with  sombre 
eyes.  He  had  regained  control  of  himself. 

"You  seem  pleased  to  have  recovered  your  treas- 
ure," he  said,  at  last.  "Doubtless  you  contemplate 
using  it  again  as  a  love  token.  Perhaps  I  have 
wronged  you  in  supposing  that  you  thought  of  leaving 
Braithe,  with  its  comforts" — he  glanced  about  the 
luxurious  room — "for  a  haphazard  life  with  Fayne. 
You  may  have  intended — after  a  half  hour  of  fare- 
wells in  the  By- Ways — to  return  to  enjoy  my  wealth 
and  the  shelter  of  my  honest  name." 

These  continued  insults  stung  me  to  action.  I  lifted 
my  head  haughtily.  I  looked  at  him  steadily.  "I 
will  go  to-morrow,"  I  said.  Nothing,  I  vowed  to  my- 
self, should  keep  me  under  his  roof  another  day. 

341 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

"You  will  remain,"  he  replied — his  voice  was 
steeped  in  bitterness — "and,  to  the  world,  appear  as 
my  honored  wife.  You  have  not  lost  your  beauty, 
and  other  men  will  envy  me  my  privileges." 

I  felt  as  though  sullied  by  his  dreadful  words,  as  if 
I  could  not  endure  this  torture  longer.  I  looked  plead- 
ingly, entreatingly,  at  Lilian.  If  she  would  but  speak 
and  right  me  in  his  sight — not  that  I  could  ever  for- 
give him,  could  ever  forget  his  insults.  Lilian  stood, 
eyes  downcast,  her  pretty  fair  hair  floating  over  her 
white  peignoir,  the  picture  of  lovely,  girlish  innocence 
and  sorrow. 

"In  a  certain  way,"  Etienne  went  on,  "I  love  you 
still.  For  although  I  have  discovered  that  my  idol's 
aristocratic,  high-arched  feet  are  of  clay,  they  are 
very  charming  little  feet.  You  are  a  true  Braithe, 
and  as  such  out  of  place  on  a  pedestal;  but  to  while 
away  a  man's  time  when —  Oh,  my  God!"  He  ceased 
speaking,  turned  away,  and,  leaning  against  the  high 
chimney-piece,  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"I  will  take  the  child,"  I  said,  steadily,  "and  go  to- 
morrow. I  will  never  forgive  you,  and  never  re- 
turn." 

"Theo!"  exclaimed  Lilian,  softly. 

I  raised  my  tired  eyes  and  looked  at  her,  and  she 
knew  that  my  decision  was  made.  Then  she  advanced 
slowly  toward  me  and  spoke — for  how  might  she  fare 
did  Janey  and  I  go? 

"Etienne,"  she  said,  gently,  "dear  Etienne!" 

He  uncovered  his  haggard  face  and  stared  at  her, 
as  though  for  the  first  time  aware  of  her  presence  in 
the  room;  but  he  did  not  speak. 

"Dear  Etienne,"  her  voice  was  exquisite  in  its  sweet- 
ness, "aren't  you  too  hard  on  poor  Theo?  I'm  sure  she 
meant  no  harm." 

My  heart  sank  within  me.  I  had  not  known  how 
much  I  had  hoped  for  help,  until  I  realized  that  it 

342 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

was  not  to  be  looked  for  from  her.  Nothing,  I  saw, 
would  induce  her  to  tell  of  her  marriage  to  Herbert;  at 
all  costs  she  would  keep  that  a  secret,  and  so  win  Car- 
rington. 

"What  do  you  know  of  such  matters?"  said  Etienne, 
wearily.  "Go  to  your  room,  Lilian;  this  is  no  place 
for  innocent  girls." 

"But,  dear  Etienne,"  she  said,  still  more  gently, 
"you  are  really  unkind  to  Theo.  She  could  not  let  a 
Braithe  be  dishonored " 

"Why  didn't  she  come  to  me?"  he  demanded,  with 
sudden  fierceness.  "She  knew  I  was  wax  in  her 
hands,  that  if  she  wanted  him  screened  I'd  have  bought 
him  off  if  it  had  cost  every  cent  I  had.  Oh,  she  knew 
her  power  well.  There,  go,  you  mustn't  stay  here." 

He  spoke  to  Lilian,  but  he  looked  at  me,  and  there 
was  a  great  anguish  in  his  eyes.  She  was  silent  for  a 
moment,  and  I  knew  that  she  was  reviewing  her 
chances  with  Carrington;  asking  herself  if  he  would 
best  approve  her  throwing  in  her  lot  with  me,  or  ad- 
mire her  more  did  she  remain  quietly  at  Braithe  with 
Etienne.  It  was  a  difficult  question,  her  pretty  brows 
puckered  in  anxiety,  for  a  false  step  now  might  ruin 
all.  Mr.  Carrington  had  always  liked  me — but  he 
believed  in  wives  staying  at  home.  I  saw  that  she 
still  held  the  packet  of  letters — the  letters  that  would 
restore  my  good  name  if  she  would  but  show  them — 
in  her  hand.  But  her  arm  hung  by  her  side,  and  the 
lace  of  her  sleeve  concealed  both  hand  and  package. 

I  stood  near  the  tall  cheval-glass,  whose  gleaming 
surface  reflected  the  brightly  lighted  room,  with  its 
three  silent  occupants.  Lilian,  in  her  floating  white 
neglige;  Etienne  in  his  rain-bespattered  velvet  coat; 
and  I,  in  my  disordered  dress — the  shining  satin 
blurred  with  mud  stains,  my  hair  uncoiled,  and  the 
splendid  jewels  blazing  against  my  aching  heart.  We 
were  a  strange  trio. 

343 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

Lilian  began  to  speak.  She  had  chosen  her  part — 
what  would  she  say? 

"I  hope  you  may  be  mistaken,  Etienne,"  she  said; 
"but  if  it  is  as  you  fear,  if  poor  Theo  has  done  wrong — " 
She  ceased  speaking,  she  stared  into  the  depths  of  the 
great  mirror,  her  face  grew  haggard,  ashen.  "Ah!" 
she  gasped,  shrinking  back,  her  white  lips  twitching, 
a  look  of  awful  fear  in  her  dilated  eyes,  "Lydia!  Don't 
let  her  touch  me — in  her  shroud!"  And  flinging  up 
her  arms  as  if  to  ward  off  some  approaching  horror,  she 
fell  senseless  where  she  stood. 

I  ran  to  her  and,  kneeling,  lifted  her  head  upon  my 
lap.  I  felt  that  I  must  ask  aid  of  Etienne.  I  hated  to 
speak  to  him,  but  I  forced  down  my  anger,  my  pride. 

"Etienne,"  I  almost  whispered,  "she  has  fainted — 
bring  water,  please." 

He  did  not  answer.  I  heard  the  rustle  of  paper. 
I  looked  up.  He  was  by  the  table  that  held  the  lamp, 
rapidly  examining  the  letters,  that  must  have  been 
flung  almost  at  his  feet,  by  Lilian's  wild  motion  of 
despair.  I  held  my  breath,  I  dared  neither  speak  nor 
move,  for  he  was  reading  the  marriage  certificate.  He 
read  it  deliberately,  slowly,  as  if  in  fear  of  making 
some  mistake;  then  selected,  with  careful  examina- 
tion of  their  dates,  two  letters,  and  read  them  through. 
He  turned  and  looked  at  me. 

"You  were  her  cat's-paw?"  he  asked,  in  a  low  voice, 
pointing  at  Lilian. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  wearily. 

"You  couldn't  trust  me?" 

"I  was  under  oath,"  I  said. 

"To  get  these  back?"  he  demanded. 

"Yes,  yes — and  not  to  tell.  But  get  me  water, 
please,  and  help  me  bring  her  to." 

I  spoke  impatiently — -for  of  what  use  were  explana- 
tions now,  when  his  doubts  had  proved  his  love 
worthless? 

344 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

"These  were  the  price  of  his  safe  conduct  from  the 
house  ?"  he  persisted,  methodically  retying  the  letters, 
and  putting  them  into  his  pocket. 

"Yes,"  I  again  answered.  "Ah!  she  is  coming  to 
herself,  I  think " 

"She  shan't  stay  here,"  he  cried,  with  sudden  anger. 
And  snatching  her  up  before  I  well  knew  what  he 
would  do,  he  called  to  me  to  open  the  door,  carried  her 
along  the  gallery  to  her  room,  and  almost  flung  her 
upon  the  bed. 

"You  are  not  to  touch  her,"  he  said,  imperiously; 
"do  you  understand?  Merle  shall  wake  her  maid,  and 
she  can  attend  to  her.  Come  back  to  your  room,  you 
have " 

"Theo!"  cried  Lilian,  faintly.  "I  want  Theo.  Ah!" 
as  I  leaned  over  her,  "where  is — she?"  Lifting  her- 
self feebly,  she  looked  about  her  in  terror,  but  finding 
that  she  was  in  her  own  room,  said,  sighing,  "Then  it 
was  only  a  dream." 

The  next  moment  she  was  searching  for  her  letters, 
crying  out  that  I  had  fooled  her,  played  her  false. 
Etienne  had  gone,  as  I  supposed,  for  the  maid;  but 
while  I  was  striving  to  soothe  her,  yet  not  to  tell  what 
had  become  of  the  letters,  he  returned. 

"I  have  your  letters,"  he  said,  sternly,  "and  shall 
keep  them  until  you  behave  yourself.  Drink  this" — 
he  held  a  wineglass  to  her  lips — "and  stop  tormenting 
Theo  for  a  few  hours,  at  least." 

Trembling,  sobbing  like  a  frightened  child,  she 
obeyed,  but  insisted  that  I  should  remain  with  her. 
I  did  so,  paying  no  heed  to  Etienne's  remonstrances. 
The  sleeping  draught  was  a  powerful  one — Etienne 
had  measured  it  out  with  no  light  hand— and  in  a  few 
moments  her  deep  breathing  told  me  that  I  was  no 
longer  needed. 

Before  the  maid  came  I  had  sufficiently  recovered 
myself  to  think  of  appearances.  I  hastily  knotted  up 

345 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

my  hair,  but  the  long  train  of  my  gown  bore  marks  of 
rough  usage  that  would  be  hard  to  conceal  from  a 
sharp-eyed  femme  de  chambre.  As  I  turned  the  light 
low,  I  thought  of  Josette's  wonder  when  she  should 
see  the  state  of  the  satin ;  and  sighed  as  I  realized  what 
a  tissue  of  falsehoods  must  be  woven,  to  hang  over  the 
doings  of  that  night.  I  went  to  my  dressing-room, 
and,  putting  on  a  wrapper,  began  my  task  of  removing 
the  stains  at  once.  I  felt  odd,  unlike  myself;  my  head 
and  eyes  burning,  my  brain  as  if  on  fire.  I  repeated, 
over  and  over  again,  Etienne's  cruel  words,  as  if  to 
stamp  them  indelibly  upon  my  mind.  I  made  no 
allowance  for  the  mad  jealousy  that  had  prompted 
them,  or  for  his  hot  temper;  I  refused  to  remind  my- 
self of  the  many  ^kindnesses  I,  and  mine,  had  received 
at  his  hands.  I  had  but  one  desire,  to  wound  him  as 
deeply  as  he  had  wounded  me — I,  who  had  never  be- 
fore wished  to  hurt  anyone ! 

Presently  I  heard  someone  moving  in  the  adjoining 
room  and  Etienne  entered.  I  did  not  raise  my  eyes, 
but,  the  train  of  the  satin  across  my  knee,  continued 
my  task  as  if  too  much  absorbed  to  notice  that  he  stood 
near.  He  sighed,  then  seated  himself  beside  me. 
My  heart  began  to  beat  violently,  painfully;  my  hands 
trembled;  I  but  made  a  pretence  of  working.  He  took 
the  gown  from  me,  freeing  my  fingers  gently  as  I 
would  have  clung  to  it,  and  flung  it  aside. 

"Don't  touch  me,"  I  cried,  passionately,  striving  to 
release  my  hands  that  he  held  firmly  in  his  own;  "you 
have  made  me  hate  you!" 

"You  can't  forgive  me,  Theo?"  he  said. 

"No,"  I  cried,  the  hot  color  surging  into  my  white 
cheeks,  my  eyes  flashing  as  I  turned  and  looked  him 
in  the  face.  "I  had  an  affection  for  you,  do  you  un- 
derstand? I  had  grown  fond  of  you.  I  trusted  you, 
believed  in  you!  Yes,  believed  in  you  so  entirely 
that  had  anyone,  had  all  the  world,  cried  out  that  you 

346 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

had  done  wrong,  even  had  appearances  shown  you  to 
be  guilty,  I  would  have  sworn  that  people  and  circum- 
stances spoke  falsely,  yes,  lied!  So  great  was  my 
faith." 

My  voice  sank  as  I  spoke  these  last  words;  tears 
sprang  to  my  fevered  eyes,  ran  over,  plashed  down 
upon  his  hands  folded  close  on  mine. 

"My  darling!"  he  murmured.  Then  said,  firmly, 
"I  will  win  it  back." 

"No,"  I  sobbed,  "you  cannot.     It  is  dead." 

"I  can  never  forgive  myself,"  he  said,  sadly,  and 
again  he  sighed.  He  lifted  my  hand,  and  put  back 
both  my  wedding-ring  and  the  great  ruby.  I  knew 
that  he  could  have  found  them  only  by  replacing  the 
old  lantern — forgotten  by  me  in  my  excitement — and 
that  he,  too,  held  the  wearisome  secrets  of  the 
House. 

"You  feel  as  you  did  at  first,"  he  asked;  "that  these 
are  fetters?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  not  sparing  him.  "And  I  must 
again  begin  a  life  of  pretence.  Janey  must  not  know 
that  I  am  unhappy.  It  would  hurt  her." 

"Theo !"  he  cried.  His  voice  showed  how  my  words 
cut  him.  Springing  to  his  feet  he  walked  restlessly 
about  the  room,  but  paused  at  last  before  my  dressing- 
table.  "Fadd  gave  me  these  just  now,"  he  said, 
gloomily,  taking  my  lost  jewels  from  his  pocket  and 
heaping  them  in  a  gleaming  mass.  "And  the  others 
are  all  found,  too.  He — Fayne — had  them  concealed 
about  him." 

"Was  he — shot?"  I  asked,  faintly. 

"I  thought  you  knew,"  said  Etienne,  slowly,  "that 
Wylde  choked  him  to  death." 

I  sat  silent.  A  great  horror  held  me  dumb.  Her- 
bert was  dead,  and  James  Wylde  a  murderer — because 
of  me.  At  last  one  fear  dominated  all  others,  and 
forced  me  into  speech. 

347 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"James  Wylde,"  I  whispered,  "have  they  caught 
him?" 

"No"  said  Etienne,  shortly,  then  added:  "He  got 
away  in  the  darkness — and  I  am  not  sorry." 

I  looked  up,  our  eyes  met,  and  I  knew  that  Mr. 
Fadd  had  stood  my  friend,  by  telling  my  story  for  me. 

"Yes,"  said  Etienne,  as  though  reading  my  un- 
spoken question  in  my  eyes,  "Fadd  was  in  the  By- 
Ways,  with  you.  He  was  prepared  to  shoot  Fayne,  did 
he  reach  the  boat — but  Wylde  came.  I  did  not  give 
Fadd  the  secrets  of  the  House.  He  discovered  them. 
As  for  me — I  bought  them,  with  the  Manor."  He 
was  silent  a  long  moment.  "You  will  wear  these — 
sometimes?"  He  pointed  to  the  gems  that  sparkled 
in  the  lamplight. 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  said,  indifferently. 

"And  this?"  he  held  up  the  diamond  heart. 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

"For  the  sake  of  the  child?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"Theo,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "won't  you  tell  me  what 
I  can  do  to  make  things  easier  for  you?  Would  you 
like  to  go  away  for  a  time — just  Janey  and  you?" 

"Yes !"  I  faltered,  my  tears  beginning  to  flow  fast, 
"just  Janey  and  I — and  our  Charles  Stuart." 

"So  be  it,"  said  Etienne,  quietly,  and  he  left  the 
room. 

And  I,  I  went  into  my  oratory,  and  wore  out  the 
night  in  prayers  for  forgiveness.  Might  God  be  merci- 
ful to  me — and  to  my  erring  cousin.  Might  he  pro- 
tect, and  pardon,  the  poor  fugitive,  James  Wylde. 


348 


XXX 

Herbert  was  buried  near  the  chapel,  as  had  always 
been  his  wish.  And  with  all  honor;  since  he  was  be- 
lieved to  have  met  his  death  bravely,  in  an  attempt 
to  prevent  the  jewel  thieves  from  carrying  off  their 
plunder.  The  burglars  had  hidden  their  booty  in 
the  underbrush  by  the  river,  and  returning  to  seek  it 
had  been  discovered  by  Herbert.  Although  alone, 
and  unarmed,  he  had  fearlessly  attacked  them — and 
so  lost  his  life.  This  Mr.  Praie  told  all  who  asked  for 
an  account  of  the  affair;  and  newspaper  reporters  came 
from  far  and  near. 

So  for  pall,  Herbert  had  a  tapestry  of  falsehoods, 
and  as  shroud,  a  mask  and  domino  of  lies. 

James  Wylde  never  returned  home.  When  the 
war  with  Spain  broke  out  he  enlisted,  and  ended  the 
brief  span  of  his  reckless  life  while  fighting  for  his 
country.  Herbert  had  not  confided  any  of  the  stolen 
jewels  to  his  keeping,  so  he  was  never  sought  for. 

"My  Jim  was  like  a  spirituous  horse,"  said  poor 
Mrs.  Gill,  weeping  profusely,  "an'  I  drawed  the  curb 
too  tight  on  him,  I  guess.  "When  he  was  mad  he  waa 
like  me;  his  wits  turned  tipsy-turvy,  an'  he  done  ex- 
tryordinary  crazy  things.  Anyways,"  she  added,  dry- 
ing her  eyes  and  striving  for  composure,  "he  couldn't 
never  have  been  totally  happy,  seeing  you,  Miss  Theo, 
was  born  a  Braithe,  and  not  just  a  plain  farmer's 
daughter  like  himself — and  married,  too,  to  an  hon- 
orary gentleman  as  good  as  gold!" 

Mr.  Fadd's  interest  had  been  aroused  when  Mrs. 
Strong,  returning  from  her  evening  at  Braithe  House 

349 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

in  a  state  of  painful  excitement,  had  given  not  only  an 
account  of  the  tableau  from  Faust,  with  its  ending,  but 
had  told  him  stories  of  the  Braithes  and  of  my  opal,  as 
well.  This  interest  had  been  added  to,  the  next  morn- 
ing; since  it  was  then,  when  he  was  calling  at  the 
Manor,  that  the  robbery  was  discovered.  The  theft 
of  the  jewels,  coming  so  shortly  after  the  disappear- 
ance of  the  opal,  led  Mr.  Fadd  to  suspect  that  the  thief 
was  not  far  away.  He  asked  permission  to  come 
secretly  to  Braithe,  and  to  assist  in  the  search  for  a 
clue;  suggesting,  also,  that  his  knowledge  of  palmistry 
might  serve  to  amuse  our  disturbed  guests.  I  have 
always  fancied  that,  believing  in  his  own  skill,  he  had 
hoped  thus  to  learn  much  of  the  characters  of  the  in- 
mates of  Braithe.  But  it  was  Herbert's  close  resem- 
blance to  the  portrait  of  our  great-great-great-grand- 
father that  caused  Mr.  Fadd's  suspicions  to  centre  ulti- 
mately upon  him.  Mr.  Praie  had  overheard  Herbert's 
conversation  with  me  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  and 
had  thus  learned  that  he  contemplated  leaving  Braithe. 
But  it  was  Mr.  Fadd  who  had  insisted  that  he  would 
go  secretly,  and  that  very  evening.  The  detectives, 
however,  had  yielded  to  Mr.  Fadd's  wish  that  Etienne 
should  not  be  told  either  that  Herbert  was  the  thief, 
or  that  he  might  even  then  be  seeking  to  escape,  until 
after  midnight. 

Students  are,  sometimes,  cruel.  Had  Mr.  Fadd 
been  content  to  forego  his  strange  study  of  supersti- 
tions— and  of  the  doctrine  of  heredity — I  might  have 
been  spared  two  hours  of  anguish. 

Herbert's  past  record  was  never  known.  He  had 
told  Lilian  the  police  were  seeking  him,  and  that  the 
house  was  watched,  in  order  to  work  upon  her  fears 
sufficiently  to  enable  him  to  carry  out  his  plans.  The 
anxiety,  and  the  subsequent  fright,  made  Lilian  ill. 
She  could  not  rid  herself  of  the  fancy  that  Lydia  pur- 
sued her.  The  mirrors  in  her  room  had  to  be  covered; 

350 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

she  dared  not  look  in  them,  dreading  lest  she  might 
see  Lydia's  grave-gray  face,  and  meet  her  awful  eyes. 

Ten  days  passed  before  she  was  able  to  go,  with 
little  Jane  and  me,  to  the  cottage  that  Etienne  had 
taken  for  us  on  the  south  shore  of  Long  Island.  But 
by  the  last  of  August  she  was  well  enough  to  make  the 
promised  visit  to  Mrs.  Ainslie,  and  returned  to  Braithe 
only  in  time  to  prepare  for  her  marriage  to  Ralph  Car- 
rington.  Etienne  had  insisted  that  Mr.  Carrington 
must  know  of  her  secret  marriage  to  Herbert.  So  she 
herself  told  him,  and  so  cleverly,  that  he  thought  her 
but  the  innocent  victim  of  Herbert's  selfishness,  and 
his  affection  for  her  was,  through  pity,  increased  ten- 
fold. 

Etienne  and  I  were  not  very  happy.  He  could  not 
realize  that  I  had  forgiven  his  jealous  outburst,  long 
before  a  month  was  over — and  I  was  too  shy  to  tell 
him  so.  It  was  impossible  for  me  to  bring  myself  to 
speak  of  that  night  of  misery.  He  was  very,  very 
kind  to  Janey  and  me,  quick  to  note  any  change  that 
might  add  to  our  comfort,  and  ever  striving  to  pro- 
mote our  pleasure.  But  he  seemed  to  care  little 
what  he  did  himself;  and  when  his  face  was  in  re- 
pose, it  was  always  sad.  This  worried  me;  and  I 
fretted  over  his  altered  looks,  and  our  changed  rela- 
tions, until  I  lost  my  color,  and  grew  thin — thus 
increasing  his  unhappiness,  and  making  my  little 
sister  miserable. 

Lilian  was  married  in  October.  To  please  her,  I 
consented  to  put  off  my  mourning,  and  to  wear  colors 
on  her  wedding  day.  Her  superstitious  fears  thus 
far  quieted,  her  anxiety  that  the  day  might  be  fair 
became  painful — since  happy  is  the  bride  that  the  sun 
shines  on.  Fortunately,  it  proved  to  be  perfect.  The 
sun  shone  clear  and  warm.  The  trees  were  in  gala 
Attire  of  shaded  crimsons,  reds,  yellows,  and  softest 
browns.  The  river — a  pale  blue  mirror — reflected 

351 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

shores  and  mountains  veiled  in  purple  haze,  and  the 
broad  sweep  of  a  turquoise  sky. 

The  chapel  was  decked  with  chrysanthemums;  with 
long  sprays  of  the  graceful  woodbine,  dyed  the  deepest 
red;  with  branches  of  russet-stained  oak,  and  great 
boughs  of  the  many-tinted  maple.  So  much  had  the 
little  church  become  a  part  of  the  woodland  that  it 
seemed  as  though  the  old  garden — gay  with  autumnal 
flowers — and  the  belt  of  richly  colored  trees,  through 
which  came  the  wedding  guests,  were  but  its  length- 
ened aisle. 

The  wedding  was  in  the  afternoon  and  Lilian  made 
the  loveliest  of  brides;  so  fair  and  pure  looking  in  her 
snowy  satin,  and  veil  of  filmy  lace.  The  chapel  was 
filled  to  overflowing  with  a  gay  crowd  from  town,  and 
a  few  of  these  friends  were  to  remain  with  us  for  a 
short  visit.  Because  of  the  long  afternoon  of  festivity 
the  evening  was  cut  rather  short,  and  it  was  but  eleven 
o'clock  when  our  guests  said  good-night. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Love,  who  had  lingered 
behind  the  others  for  a  few  last  words  with  me,  at  the 
foot  of  the  staircase,  "do  you  know,  Mrs.  Theo,  that 
this  beast,"  laying  her  hand  upon  the  leopard  newel- 
post,  "always  reminds  me  of  the  late  lamented.  Now 
don't  look  grieved  over  my  flippancy;  his  being  dead 
doesn't  sanctify  him  any  to  me — not  a  bit !  And  when 
I  cast  my  eye  on  any  of  these  catty,  heraldic  animals 
of  yours,  I  seem  to  see  Herbert  Fayne  again.  He  had 
such  a  pantherish  way  of  sliding  around  after  you,  and 
watching  you,  Madam  R.  I  used  to  wish  that  some- 
body would  just  choke  the  deviltry  out  of  him.  Why, 
lovely  girl,  don't  turn  so  pale!  I  didn't  mean  to  talk 
such  a  lot  of  rot  about  Fayne,  but  the  truth  is  he  got 
on  my  nerves  the  last  time  I  was  here.  I  used  to  catch 
myself  holding  my  breath,  waiting  for  him  to  pounce! 
That  gown  of  yours  is  just  about  perfect,  do  you  know 
it?  I'm  glad  you  put  on  a  low  bodice  for  dinner. 

352 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

The  other  was  pretty,  too;  but  your  shoulders  are  too 
handsome  to  hide.  And  I'm  glad  you  got  your  gew- 
gaws back.  Somehow  the  more  you  sling  on  the  bet- 
ter. Why,  beside  you  the  bride  wasn't  even  a  well- 
backed  second  choice !  Oh,  here  comes  Rappelle  with 
a  lot  of  men.  Kiss  me  good-night,  quick!" 

She  ran  upstairs,  and  I  followed.  I  went  into  my 
dressing-room.  Josette  was  not  there.  Returning 
softly  to  the  gallery,  I  looked  over  the  railing. 
Etienne  was  re-entering  the  library,  alone.  He  swung 
the  baize  door  to  behind  him,  but,  disregarding  this 
no-admittance  signal,  I  went  slowly  downstairs.  I 
felt  overwhelmed  by  all  he  had  done  for  me  and  mine; 
he  had  been  so  very  generous  to  Lilian,  so  tender  with 
little  Jane,  so  good  to  me.  I  thought  I  would  try  to 
thank  him.  I  would  tell  him  how  deeply  I  appre- 
ciated his  protecting  care.  I  wondered  if  I  should 
have  the  courage  to  say  what  I  felt.  I  lingered,  hesi- 
tating; then,  pulling  open  the  baize  door  gently,  I 
tapped  lightly  on  the  heavier  one  behind.  No  an- 
swer. I  turned  the  knob,  and  looked  in. 

He  stood  beside  the  hearth,  his  back  toward  me; 
one  arm  rested  against  the  tall  chimney-piece,  his  head 
was  bowed  upon  it,  and  his  attitude  expressed  utter 
weariness  and  the  most  profound  dejection.  This 
hurt  me  so  much  that  I  forgot  my  shyness  of  the 
moment  before.  I  took  up  my  trailing  draperies 
firmly,  and  holding  them  so  that  they  should  not 
rustle  and  betray  me,  crossed  the  room  with  noiseless 
step  and  laid  my  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  He  lifted 
his  face — so  grave  and  careworn — and,  seeing  who  it 
was,  held  out  a  kind  hand,  while  he  smiled  a  welcome. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  Theo?"  he  asked,  gently, 
seeming  to  think  I  had  come  to  beg  some  new  favor. 

"Two  things,  kind  sir,"  I  said,  gayly.  He  must  not 
know  that  I  had  noticed  his  depression  of  spirits. 

"Name  them,  please." 

353 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

"First,  monseigneur,"  I  said,  with  mock  solemnity, 
while  I  spread  out  my  skirts  with  both  hands  and  swept 
him  a  low  courtesy,  "I  wish  you  to  say  that  you  are 
satisfied  with  your  own  taste" — he  had  chosen  my 
gown — "and  to  tell  me  that  I  have  not  done  it  dis- 
credit." 

I  folded  my  hands  demurely,  and  awaited  his  judg- 
ment. 

He  looked  me  over  slowly,  with  a  would-be  critical 
expression  in  his  keen  dark  eyes.  And,  although  I 
knew  that  my  dressmaker  had  outdone  herself,  I  found 
that  I  had  overrated  my  own  powers.  I  could  not 
stand  his  scrutiny  coolly,  and  my  heart  began  to 
beat. 

My  gown  was  exquisite,  of  palest  pink  silk,  so  rich 
that  in  certain  lights  it  looked  as  though  beaded  with 
pearls.  The  rare  point-lace  that  almost  covered  it  was 
like  a  tracery  of  intricate  frost-work.  High  on  the 
left  shoulder,  close  to  the  big  puffs  that  served  as 
sleeves,  and  held  in  place  by  a  diamond  butterfly,  lay 
three  red  roses — a  bud,  a  half -blown  rose,  and  the  per- 
fect flower.  In  my  hair  sparkled  the  diamond  crescent 
with  its  companion  stars;  the  Gypsy's  Opal  glowed  at 
my  throat,  held  by  its  gleaming  chain.  And  I  wore  a 
breast-knot  of  opals  and  diamonds — Etienne's  latest 
gift. 

"You  think,"  he  said,  at  last,  with  a  smile  half 
amused,  half  sad,  "that  I  have  waited  till  now  to  look 
at  you,  Theo?" 

"JSTo,"  I  said,  blushing  at  my  own  ill-behavior,  yet 
not  mending  my  ways,  "but  you  have  not  told  me  that 
I  pleased  you.  Do  I  please  you,  Etienne  ?" 

The  color  surged  into  his  face,  his  eyes  flashed;  he 
stepped  forward,  then  stopped  short,  paling  to  the  lips, 
as  though  it  cost  him  a  great  effort  to  control  himself. 

"An  idle  question  from  you  to  me,  Theo,"  he  said, 
gravely,  and  there  was  reproach  in  his  voice.  "You 

354 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

know  well  that  you  always  please  me  far  too  much  for 
my  happiness." 

"Etienne,"  I  cried,  holding  out  my  hands  to  him, 
the  ready  tears  springing  to  my  eyes,  "Etienne,  for- 
give me!  I  am  ashamed." 

He  took  the  outstretched  hands  gently,  kissed  them, 
and  let  them  fall. 

"Tell  me  the  second  thing  that  I  am  to  do  for  you, 
Theo,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"Just  that  for  this  once  you  will  let  me  thank  you, 
Etienne,"  I  said,  impulsively;  "just  that  you  will  let 
me  tell  you  how  deeply  I  appreciate " 

I  got  no  further,  for  he  raised  his  hand  to  enjoin 
silence. 

"If  you  really  wished  to  please  me,  Theo,"  he  said, 
sadly,  "you  would  spare  me  all  nonsense  of  this  kind." 
He  glanced  at  the  clock,  then  said  hurriedly,  "It  is  not 
late",  if  you  could  give  me  a  few  moments,  there  is 
something  I  must  speak  to  you  about — but  no,  you 
have  had  a  day  of  fatigue,  you  must  be  tired;  another 
time  will  do." 

But  I  was  anxious  to  make  amends,  and  remember- 
ing that  he  liked  to  see  me  in  Old  Vivian's  chair, 
begged  him  to  draw  it  forward  that  I  might  sit  beside 
the  fire. 

"Now  begin,  please,"  I  said,  smiling  up  at  him  as 
I  seated  myself.  "I  am  not  at  all  tired,  and  there  is 
plenty  of  time." 

He  returned  to  his  former  position,  leaning  against 
the  chimney-piece  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  wide 
hearth.  Instead  of  speaking,  he  stared  down  at  the 
smoldering  logs,  that  were  already  beginning  to  crum- 
ble into  ashes,  with  sombre  eyes — eyes  that  did  not 
see  the  fire,  but  something  that  memory,  or  imagina- 
tion, pictured. 

Always  susceptible  to  surroundings,  the  gloom  of 
the  big  room,  with  its  duskv  corners,  the  old  portrait 

355 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

of  the  wicked  Vivian  (looking  vindictively  down  upon 
the  sad-faced  Rappelle  who  had  become  the  owner  not 
only  of  Braithe  House  and  Manor,  but  also  of  his  brill- 
iantly clad  descendant  now  seated  in  his  very  chair), 
and  Etienne's  attitude  of  determined  composure,  yet 
air  of  intense  melancholy,  weighed  upon  my  spirits 
and  crushed  them  down.  I  felt  suddenly  oppressed, 
frightened  by  the  depressing  atmosphere.  I  began  to 
wonder  what  I  was  to  hear,  if  Etienne  were  displeased 
with  me.  I  had  been  very  gay  and  merry  all  that 
day;  I  had  laughed  and  jested  with  everyone,  thor- 
oughly enjoying  the  excitement  and  bustle  attending 
the  wedding.  Lilian  and  Ralph  were  so  very  happy, 
and  little  Jane  had  been  in  an  ecstasy  over  every- 
thing. 

"I'm  so  wickedly  glad  to  be  rid  of  Lilian  that  I  can't 
be  as  sorry  for  poor  Ralph  as  I  ought,"  she  had  said. 
"For,  of  course,  he'll  rue  the  day.  Lilian's  been  a 
wet-blanket  and  a  scourge.  Come,  let's  put  the  Cats 
in  pages'  capes  and  caps  of  red  leaves,  and  make  them 
look  as  gay  as  we  feel!" 

Had  we  been  too  gay,  Janey  and  I?  Was  Etienne 
annoyed?  Would  he  take  me  to  task  over  my  light- 
hearted  behavior?  As  I  worried  myself  with  these 
questions,  sitting  quite  still  in  the  great  high-backed 
chair,  Etienne  transferred  his  gaze  from  the  crumbling 
logs  to  me,  and  I  saw  that  he  strove  to  smooth  his  set 
face  into  more  cheerful  curves. 

"I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  send  you  and  Janey 
away  for  the  winter,  Theo,"  he  said,  at  last.  "To  the 
Riviera,  perhaps.  I  think  that  you  need  rest  and  a 
complete  change  of  scene." 

"You  forget  that  I  have  had  both,  Etienne,"  I  said, 
smiling;  "Janey  and  I  have  just  come  home.  But  if 
you  would  like  to  go,  that  is  a  different  matter,  and 
little  Jane  and  I  will  be  quite  willing  to  repack  our 
trunks." 

356 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BEAITHE 

He  grew  a  trifle  paler.  "I  shall  stay  here,"  he  said. 
"Merle  can  take  you  over,  and  remain  with  you.  He 
knows  what  you  like;  and  I  can  trust  him."  I 
looked  at  him  in  such  evident  surprise  that  he 
added,  "When  I  say  you  need  rest,  Theo,  I  mean 
absence  from  me — rest  from  the  life  of  pretence  you 
so  dislike." 

I  did  not  speak.  I  sat  very  still,  marvelling  at  his 
lack  of  insight.  For  I  loved  him — and  this  he  failed 
to  understand. 

"You  must  not  fancy,  Theo,  that  you  have  shown, 
by  word  or  look,  that  you  find  your  surroundings  wear- 
ing. You  have  too  sweet  a  disposition,  and  too  much 
tact,  ever  to  betray  your  discomfort  to  others.  But 
you  can't  prevent  my  seeing  that  you  grow  thin,  or 
hide  the  great  circles  under  your  eyes." 

Again  there  was  silence  in  the  large  room ;  save  for 
the  gentle  rustle  of  settling  ashes  on  the  hearth,  not  a 
sound. 

"I  will  come  to  see  you  during  the  winter,  Theo— 
there  shall  be  no  vulgar  gossip  over  our  affairs — and 
in  the  spring  we  will  make  a  fresh  start.  By  then, 
please  God,  my  shortcomings  may  have  faded  from 
your  memory." 

He  looked  full  at  me  when  he  stopped  speaking, 
and  I  knew  that  he  expected  an  answer  of  some  kind. 
But  what  he  had  said  had  wrought  wonderful  changes 
in  the  atmosphere.  The  room  no  longer  appeared 
gloomy;  Old  Vivian's  hitherto  vindictive  face  had  be- 
come expressionless;  and  my  blood  began  to  dance 
wildly  through  my  veins,  driven  by  a  thrill  of  excite- 
ment. For  I  knew  the  time  had  come  for  me  to  put 
an  end  to  his  doubts  forever.  I  was  a  little  fright- 
ened, yet  I  did  not  wish  to  keep  him  waiting.  I 
wanted  to  tell  him  soberly,  gravely,  of  my  affection; 
to  be  dignified  and  very  calm.  But,  in  spite  of  my 
efforts,  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  behave  as  I  thought 

357 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

right,  since  it  is  not  in  moments  of  great  excitement 
that  one  can  alter  one's  nature. 

Hardly  knowing  what  I  did,  I  unfastened  the  dia- 
mond butterfly  on  my  shoulder,  freed  the  three  roses 
and  placing  them  singly  in  a  row  on  my  silken  lap, 
glanced  up  at  Etienne — and  smiled. 

"Did  you  ever  study  botany,  Etienne?" 

"No,  Theo,"  he  said,  watching  me  intently. 

"Those  three  roses  that  I  gave  you  on  our  wedding- 
day,  Etienne,  you  did  not  pull  them  to  pieces  to  see 
how  they  were  made?" 

"More  idle  questions,  Theo?"  he  said — I  saw  that 
his  turn  to  wonder  had  come.  "This  last  makes  three 
to-night." 

"A  question — for  each  rose,"  I  said,  dreamily. 
"But  those  other  roses — you  threw  them  away?" 

No  answer. 

"Did  you,  Etienne?" 

"No,"  he  said,  briefly.  And  I  saw  that  he  was  dis- 
pleased, thinking  me  unkind. 

"They  must  be  sadly  withered  by  now,"  I  said, 
musingly.  Then,  looking  down  at  the  roses,  "I  have 
no  horn-book,  Etienne,  but  if  you  will  come  here  I  can 
give  you,  with  these" — I  touched  the  roses  lightly — 
"your  first  lesson  in — flowers." 

He  came  quickly,  an  eager  light  in  his  dark  eyes; 
and  that  he  might  the  better  read  my  face,  pushed  my 
footstool  a  little  aside,  and  dropped  lightly  on  one 
knee. 

"You  kneel  gracefully,  Etienne,"  I  said,  approv- 
ingly. "Few  men  do." 

"Thank  you,"  he  answered,  quietly,  an  amused 
smile  curving  his  lips.  "You  ought  to  be  a  finished 
judge,  Theo,  so  the  compliment  is  great." 

"You  shall  be  decorated,"  I  went  on,  only  showing 
by  the  hot  blush  I  could  not  control  that  I  had  heard 
what  he  said,  "and  with  the  order  of  the  butterfly." 

358 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

And"I  pinned  the  one  that  had  held  the  roses  upon  his 
coat. 

He  bent  his  head  and  kissed  my  arm  just  below  the 
elbow,  as  my  hands  were  busied  fastening  the  sparkling 
brooch.  And  the  touch  of  his  lips  set  my  fingers 
trembling  so  that  it  was  with  difficulty  I  accomplished 
my  task.  I  leaned  back  in  my  chair  and  looked  down 
again  at  the  roses  on  my  lap;  I  dared  not  meet  his 
eyes. 

"Listen  to  the  story  of  the  roses,"  I  said  softly,  and 
as  though  speaking  to  a  child.  "And  you  must  be 
good,  and  not  interrupt — else  it  may  never  be  finished, 
Etienne." 

"Ah,  Theo,"  he  murmured,  "if " 

I  held  up  my  hand.  "Listen!"  I  said.  "These  are 
strange  roses;  they  have  taken  a  long,  long  time,  to 
unclose.  See,"  I  lifted  the  bud,  "in  mid-April  this 
little  bud  uncurled  its  first  green  leaf,  and  beneath 
was  the  rosy  flush  of  the  coming  flower.  But  it  did 
not  quite  emerge  from  its  sheath  till — till  the  last  of 
May,  Etienne." 

He  laid  his  hand,  palm  upward,  upon  my  knee. 
"Give  me  the  bud,  Theo,"  he  said. 

I  laid  it  in  his  open  palm,  but  he  took  both  hand 
and  blossom  and  held  them  close.  So  I  lifted  the 
half-blown  rose  with  my  left  hand,  held  it  to  my  lips  a 
moment,  then  said,  in  the  merest  whisper,  though  I 
strove  to  tune  my  voice  to  a  higher  key: 

"This  shows  what  June  would  have  done  for 
the  little  bud — if  you  had  not  gathered  it, 
Etienne." 

"My  darling!"  he  murmured,  as  he  caught  the  rose, 
and,  placing  it  with  what  he  had  before  taken,  rained 
kisses  upon  hand  and  flowers. 

My  heart  beat  so  violently  it  stirred  the  laces  on 
my  bosom.  His  passion  made  my  affection  seem  but 
a  slight,  pale  thing.  The  great  red  rose  that  still  lay 

359 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BRAITHE 

upon  my  knee  was  a  more  fitting  symbol  of  his  love, 
than  of  mine. 

"Theo,"  he  whispered,  pleadingly,  "Theo — the  per- 
fect flower?  Can  I  hope  for  that,  too?" 

His  strong  face  was  white  with  emotion,  his  brilliant 
eyes  glowed  with  passionate  entreaty.  I  swayed 
toward  him;  I  laid  the  flower  against  his  lips. 

"In  July,"  I  faltered,  "all  its  petals  opened  for 
you — Etienne." 

As  he  held  me  close,  covering  my  face  and  throat 
with  kisses,  I  heard  the  clocks  throughout  the  house 
chime  the  hour. 

"This  is  your  wedding  favor,  Etienne,"  I  whis- 
pered, slipping  the  rose  into  his  button-hole.  "Now 
take  me  to  the  chapel — come!" 

He  rose,  lifting  me  from  the  great  arm-chair.  But 
still  he  did  not  release  me,  and  his  lips  sought  mine. 

"Ah,  Etienne!"  I  cried,  entreatingly,  "we  must 
make  haste.  And  you  and  I  will  repeat  our  vows. 
Just  you  and  I,  alone  together." 

He  needed  no  explanation  of  my  feelings,  but  say- 
ing he  would  get  me  a  wrap — since  the  night  was 
chill — went  to  my  room  by  way  of  his  private  stair- 
case, and  fetched  me  one. 

"Josette?"  I  asked,  anxiously. 

"She  was  not  there." 

"No  one  must  know,  Etienne." 

He  smiled  his  answer,  as  he  wrapped  the  cloak 
about  me. 

The  hall  was  empty  as  we  passed  out  and  closed  the 
great  door  softly  behind  us. 

It  was  a  white  night.  No  clouds  disputed  the 
sovereignty  of  the  moon,  enthroned  aloft  in  a  heaven 
of  crystal.  And  Jack  Frost  was  abroad.  He  had 
powdered  the  heads  of  the  tall  chrysanthemums  with 
silver,  as  they  kept  night-watch  in  the  old-fashioned 
flower  garden;  guarding  the  sun-dial  that  slept,  rest- 

360 


THE  BY-WAYS  OF  BKAITHE 

ing  from  its  day  of  labor — true  to  the  motto  carved 
upon  its  breast: 

"I  count  life  by  sunny  hours  and  them  alone." 
The  trees  of  the  woodland  spread  their  great 
branches  above  us  in  silent  benediction,  as  we  passed 
along  the  path.  The  waves  of  the  broad  river  rang 
musically  against  the  pebbly  shore,  chiming  like  fairy 
wedding  bells.  The  chapel  was  dimly  alight,  the 
moon's  brilliancy  illuminating  its  dusky  spaces.  The 
painted  saints  of  the  windows — a  row  of  serene-faced 
ghosts,  showing  pale  outlines  against  the  glory  of  the 
white  world  outside — looked  shyly  down  upon  us. 

Hand  in  hand  we  walked  silently  up  the  aisle,  and 
kneeling  at  the  steps  of  the  chancel  repeated,  in 
hushed  voices,  the  vows  that  bound  us  together  for  so 
long  as  we  both  should  live. 

The  stern  old  house  looked  bright  and  cheerful  as 
we  left  woodland  and  garden  and  mounted  its  steep 
flight  of  steps.  Many  windows  were  alight,  showing 
that  the  wedding  guests  were  still  awake. 

I  glanced  across  the  lawn  to  where  the  Leopards  sat 
on  their  posts  of  stone.  But  they  looked  as  though 
extinguishers  had  been  drawn  tightly  down  over  their 
menacing  figures,  so  muffled  were  they  in  the  bravery 
of  little  Jane's  providing. 

"When  we  entered  Hervey  was  busy  covering  the 
back-log  with  ashes;  and  his  arrangement  of  the  few 
lamps  left  burning  made  the  old  verse  above  the  chim- 
ney-piece stand  out  in  bold  relief: 

pligbt  troutbe,  ff attb  and  f>onour, 
wcle  JSraitbe  Aanor. 


361 


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